


Time's Up

by Detochkina



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Merlin Big Bang 2012 (Russia), Romance, Translation, mention of non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:06:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detochkina/pseuds/Detochkina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Summary:</strong> Is there anything in common between drugs and excellent grades? Or business and psychology?  The answer is simple – in the world of big money a lot can happen when you’re bored to tears. Under pressure from his father, Merlin becomes involved in a strange relationship. At first, he can’t get out of it; on second thought – he doesn’t want to.</p><p>  <em>"When they ask me in court how I got into this,” Merlin said slowly, trying to recover from the initial shock, “I’ll just tell them I was too busy snorting crack to notice. Think that would move them to tears?”</em><br/><em>Gwaine tossed his head back and laughed."</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Сеанс окончен](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068379) by [la_novocaina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_novocaina/pseuds/la_novocaina), [Sabira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabira/pseuds/Sabira). 



> **Translation Betas:** **[otta_ff](http://otta-ff.livejournal.com/),** **[ememmyem](http://ememmyem.livejournal.com/), **[ **alby_mangroves**](../users/Alby_Mangroves/)  
>  **Art by:** [Thymus](http://thymus.diary.ru/), [f.solveig](http://fiery-solveig.diary.ru/)  
>  **Video trailer:** [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=Z5THNR6gzRA)

 

 

 

Arthur cut a small piece from his perfectly cooked steak—medium, just the right amount of seasoning—and deposited it into his mouth. He had about forty minutes left to finish his meal and he was going to enjoy every single moment.

“An unpleasant situation, don’t you think?” Gaius set his fork aside. His wine glass was still mostly full, and the food on his plate was barely touched. Louis was going to be furious—run out of the kitchen, demand to know why the customer wasn’t pleased with the meal.

“Send him to rehab. It’s a popular solution nowadays. Proper meal plan, pretty nurses, support groups to share their life stories. A month, maybe two, and the guy will go home clean as a whistle.”

Gaius twisted a napkin in his hands. Gnarled fingers, skin covered with liver spots – somehow Arthur had failed to notice until now how much the man had given out physically. The truth was, Gaius had turned old a long time ago; Arthur just never bothered to find out about his age. His father had said something about an upcoming anniversary. Probably time to think about a present.  
  
“Rehab might help, but… it’s a sensitive matter. He’s the son of a reputable man, and if it leaked to the press…”  
  
Arthur sipped his water and, puffing out his cheeks, blew out air. It was just like when he was a child and Gaius was trying to convince him to do something he really didn’t want to.  
  
“You’re right, nothing pleasant about that. But, Gaius, I’m not a shrink. There’s no way I could help.”  
  
“We both know you’re good at reading people.” Gaius offered him an open smile, leaning in a little bit, and Arthur knew then he was going to give in.  
  
And seriously, who was he trying to fool? Gaius had known him since he was in nappies. He wondered about his guys’ reaction if they knew their boss could never say no to his father’s friend.  
  
“You aren’t as much of a wanker as you’d like us to think, Pendragon!” Imaginary Gwaine laughed and winked. Arthur sighed.  
  
“What’s his name?”  
  
“Merlin. Merlin Emrys.”  
  
“Balinor’s son?”  Arthur’s brows arched up. Gaius nodded. Arthur frowned, chewing thoughtfully on his delicious steak.  
  
“Counting your losses already?”  Gaius asked with a soft chuckle.  
  
“You know fine well we don't have much to worry about. If anyone’s going to lose a lot here, it's Balinor himself.”  
  
“And _Emrys Chemicals_.”  
  
“Which would give us an excellent opportunity to buy this whole business out,” noted Arthur, putting down his fork and knife with a satisfied sigh.  All good things come to an end.  
  
“It’s not funny, Arthur.”  
  
“I’m not laughing. Fine, no mentioning of long-term projects—yet.”  Seeing Gaius tensing, Arthur laughed. “I’m kidding, kidding! Why would I bloody care about some mental scientist and his lab?”  
  
“Does that mean you’ll help?” Gaius relaxed a little and drank some water.  
  
“Yes.” Arthur tapped his fingers on the starched tablecloth. “But why me, Gaius?”  
  
“Everyone else failed. I believe you’re the only one who can straighten the boy out.”  
  
When presented that way, Arthur couldn’t resist the challenge. Half an hour later he somehow was done not only with his salad, but the dessert, too, and completely forgot to ask for a regular tea instead of that green slog Vivian made him drink here. At the same time,  he already had a good a picture in his head of this lad Emrys. And he couldn’t say he liked that picture very much.  
  
The only thing that made this whole situation bearable for Arthur—Merlin had a monstrous IQ. Gaius wouldn’t stoop so low as to lie about that, and if he said the young guy was one of the best in his class, then it must be indeed so. On the other hand, Arthur hated people who wasted their talent on worthless rubbish.  
  
“I’m not promising anything,” he summed up, signing the bill. “I’ll try, but I won’t waste my time on some dolt.”  
  
“Thank you, Arthur.” Gaius’ smile added more wrinkles to his face, but his eyes, still young, made you forget about that. “I truly appreciate it.”  
  
“Call me.” Arthur shook his withered hand, nodded to Louis, who came out to walk him to the door, and hurried to his car. His watch said it was already two o’clock, and he had a fuck-load of a work waiting for him. In the next few days he’d have to find some time for Emrys, so he certainly had to hurry up and go now.

 

Arthur parked his car and suppressed a heavy sigh. George, his personal assistant, had a propensity for being overly eager at his job. Like now, when he materialized at the entrance, doing everything he could to demonstrate his total readiness to complete whatever challenge was coming his way. Arthur sometimes felt guilty if he didn’t have some special task saved for him, like “to pull the moon from the sky” or something of that sort.  But today, George radiated happiness for no apparent reason.  
  
“Mister Pendragon!”  
  
Arthur nodded, accepted a cup of coffee extended to him, and pressed his palm on the bio-metric device. Ensuring office security was the first rule to a successful business.  Besides, the fingerprint identity device was top-notch, and Arthur always liked to play with the latest gadgets. His father still called him a kid for a reason.  
  
“What’s new, George?”  
  
“Foreign Exchange Market is closed at this time, sir. I’ve prepared the report for the last three hours; no serious fluctuations registered. While the market is quiet, our brokers are keeping an eye on the Japanese.”  
  
Arthur fixed his tie, loosening the knot a bit, and followed jabbering George into the lift. The car silently took off and started climbing up.  
  
“Are we expecting some trouble in Tokyo?”  
  
“ _AsahiKasei_ , sir. The buzz is their stock is about to drop.  Ammonia leak at the factory in Singapore. They were able to avoid a scandal, but a stink like that doesn’t die down easily.”  George was shining like a freshly polished penny.  
  
Arthur took a sip of his coffee from the cup.  
  
“You should go, then. Hand off anything outstanding to Morris and you may be late for work tomorrow.  We can’t leave the company that’s part of _Nikkei_ without our attention.”  
  
“Of course, sir.”  
  
There weren’t a lot of people who jizzed their pants about spending sleepless nights in front of the monitor; George, however, was one of those people.  At eleven o’clock in the evening, when Tokyo Stock Exchange opened the trading floor, he’d stock up on popcorn and get busy with it until five o’clock in a morning.  One hour to finish a report – and by six Arthur would have the latest on _AsahiKasei_. By eight his analysts would have calculated his company's profit. George had an unparalleled ability to gather bits of information into one picture, one day he’d be as good as Gwaine.  
  
Arthur’s thoughts gradually moved from one chemical company to another. _Emrys Chemicals_ , in contrast with _AsahiKasei_ ,  wasn’t interested in nitric acid; their specialty was pharmacology.  Almost thirty years ago, Arthur’s father made the right decision by leasing out a piece of his land to Balinor Emrys to build a lab, which eventually turned into a powerful corporation with a strong influence in the biotech sector.  Arthur recalled that just last year Balinor was awarded a grant to supply drugs to the NHS.  
  
Yes, his father could always smell a good investment. Thirty years ago, Uther Pendragon,  who inherited a great deal of real estate, had to make a difficult choice: to bank on a young but promising chemical scientist or to make a deal with _Holland and Sherry_ , a prominent textile company looking for a place to build a new factory. It was 1984, their headquarters had just moved to Savile Row, heart of London, and they desperately needed more leverage to keep up with the market demand. Still, the deal didn’t happen.  
  
Holland wanted the land to _purchase_ it, not to lease. Uther was ready to sell, but in exchange for company stocks.  In the end, most likely in a fit of temper, Uther made a deal with the friend of Gaius, telling the textile company to sod off.  It took Uther and Holland another two years to come to an understanding.  
  
By that time, Emrys had already received solid financial support and worked like a maniac to produce a new drug according to the contract.  In another five years he swallowed his biggest competition, _Dragon Medicals_. Since then, Balinor was nicknamed a Dragon Lord, and Pendragon’s wealth, thanks to his shares in Balinor’s company, grew in millions—and kept growing.  So, if the young Emrys heir was off his trolley, it was only prudent to help him come to his senses.  
  
All these people didn’t work day and night so this bratty little arsehole could bugger things up for them.  
  
Arthur knew how to value someone else’s hard work and could recite his family history in his sleep. It all started with Anion Pendragon, slick fellow, who was granted a nobility title in the fourteenth century.  The title was given to him by Edward III, according to the legend—for Pendragon’s heroic efforts shown in one of the battles during the _Hundred Years’ War._  Arthur had his doubts about the nobility of his ancestor, but not about his calculating mind. Once he received the title and the land, Anion proceeded to multiply his riches under the patronage of his king, who wasn’t a bad businessman himself.  
  
Anion was survived by six sons; they all married smartly, and two centuries later, the Pendragons were a large, strong, and very wealthy dynasty.  After the English Revolution, they owned an extensive amount of land and, of course, supported the newly-born Conservative Party. Arthur’s ancestors managed to hold on to their wealth through the endless internal and external conflicts that battered Britain for generations–the land never loses its precious value as long as you’re smart about whom to lease it to. At the tender age of nine, Arthur was already well-versed in real estate terminology and could easily explain the difference between types of rental agreements to his father’s friends during their dinner parties.  Those little performances were done not only to entertain the guests or bolster Uther’s pride as a father.  Uther was sending a clear message—his son was going to be a strong successor when the time came.  
  
And he wasn’t wrong. Although, Arthur was far less interested in real estate. Uther was the one constantly juggling several deals, buying and selling land, building, renting, and selling again. Arthur was fascinated by the world of finances. Stock markets, money markets—his time studying at Oxford wasn’t for nothing. However, as it often happens, aside from his main interest, Arthur allowed himself a little harmless hobby—psychology. It started with a lecture in neuro-linguistic programming, and ended with poring over hundreds of books and attending classes taught by professor Geoffrey—another person who knew Gaius and agreed to work with the talented young man.  
  
Two degrees later – one official and one, not so much — Arthur took his first million, a present from his father on the day he came of age, and founded his own company. It specalised in consulting services. He quickly made a name for himself as a financial advisor and a successful negotiator. In his professional field he knew no defeat—money and connections gave him access to any information he needed. An ability to analyse said information and developing appropriate plans of attack was in his blood—and well-nurtured by his father and his mentor. He learned to work with different kinds of people; he could bullshit his way with the most difficult and stubborn clients, and push the most cautious ones to take risks. But the biggest reason for his successful career was that he cared about his reputation: he never considered dubious offers regardless of the size of a promised reward.  
  
And so far, what Gaius was asking of him seemed exactly like that sort of an offer. Wasting his time on Emrys’s boy, instead of doing serious business. But Arthur loved the old man. He was going to try to play shrink with this Merlin. And at the end, he’d send them a bill of transcendental proportions, they could be sure of that.

Merlin slammed the door and then kicked it for good measure. He couldn’t breathe he was so angry, and nothing was helping him to calm down or distract him.  
  
He was so sick of his father’s bloody lectures, and of the soft and understanding look in his mum’s eyes!  
  
He fucked up, whatever. But he was perfectly fine. And he sure as hell could deal with his own problems. _On his own_ , without any help from those dickheads with their diplomas for PhD in mindfuckery on the walls and sugary smiles on their plastic faces.  
  
Nobody listened. Merlin tried to explain, time after time, and it was like talking to a wall. As if his English suddenly turned into gibberish, and instead of normal words his parents only heard “blablablahargh grhm”.  
  
Sure he shouldn’t have experimented with meth. But nobody knew better than him the components and the doses, considering he was the one synthesising the drug, his nowhere near challenging enough biology homework finished a long time ago.  
  
It wasn’t as if he was buying some unidentified junk from a crackhead in Soho! He, Merlin, was in perfect health, no addictions to any substances, and the side effects were almost non-existent. With the exception of bouts of irritation and, occasionally, difficulty to concentrate, which was especially annoying when it happened during professor Gaius’ classes.  
  
He shouldn’t have picked this subject at all! What a pile of buggery: Monday, nine in the morning,   practically at dawn. Did they not know the best parties at “Lagoon” happen on Sunday night?.  
  
Merlin recalled his father’s hard expression as he was holding Merlin’s bank account statement—undeniable evidence of a steady loss of funds every week. What did he expect, booze in clubs was expensive.  
  
The first time, his father threatened to close all accounts and take away all of his credit cards. Merlin snorted—he already took care of that problem by opening a new account; in a different bank, just in case. All of his hard-earned money went into that account. Hard-earned, but not through legal means. The second time, his father locked him up on house arrest for a month. Thankfully it was during the summer break, otherwise his attendance record would have been an issue. Although it wouldn’t be beneath his father to hire him an escort to school.  
  
The third time, five minutes ago, his father flushed all his supply down the toilet, right in front of his upset mum and then, without a word, locked himself in his office. Most likely with a bottle of whisky. Yet another one. Considering that until recently he didn’t touch alcohol at all...  
  
Merlin wanted to scream. Why did it have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t he just explain to them that he was going through a tough time? Although no, he definitely didn’t want to talk about that.  
  
Merlin ruffled his hair and, collapsing onto his bed, hugged his pillow. Problems were piling up,  and he had zero energy to try to solve them. He was so off-kilter at that point, he just wanted to fucking forget everything: the tests, the Biology paper, and the project for the next semester he was supposed to start thinking about already. Let them expel him; being dumped by Oxford wasn’t the end of the world. Even without a degree, he’d still be in demand anywhere.  
  
Lying to himself felt almost nice. Of course, Merlin realized that without a degree he’d have no opportunities for a serious career in Pharmaceutics. At this rate, his best chance was probably to be hired by the Taliban to develop biological weapons. Merlin tried to imagine himself in a turban, or whatever that thing they wrapped around their heads was called. Might work, actually—to cover his ears, that’d be a plus. And if he grew a beard—he'd totally pass as their own.  
  
It hurt that Gaius was the one who sold him out. His favorite professor, a friend of the family, and, unfortunately, a very smart and observant man, who’d seen too many young people getting high. Merlin hugged his pillow tighter.  
  
Most of all, he was tortured by the imminence of failing his classes and being expelled.  
  
He had disappointed so many people. His dad, his mum, his mentor. He’d rather they kicked him out of the house or whipped his arse. Instead, he was surrounded by attention and loving care. By accident, Merlin overheard his parents’ conversation. Mum cried about losing her son and feeling helpless, and his dad blamed himself for always being too busy working.  
  
Merlin didn’t deserve them.  
  
Maybe, if he groveled, agreed to clean up, and promised to never do it again, everything would go back to normal. But as soon as he thought about endless sessions spent on the couch while being picked apart by another glee-faced shrink, he lost it. That was why Merlin (while hating himself terribly for it), tried to convince himself that his mum’s eyes weren’t always red, and his father didn’t have more and more grey hair.  
  
Merlin stretched out his limbs and felt around for his headphones.  If he continued beating himself up, he’d slip up again. His father took away the entire supply he kept in his room, but the stash in the garage was still safe. He wasn’t going to use it. After all, Merlin wasn’t an addict.  
  
So far.  
  
The wheel obediently scrolled under his finger, pushing the sound volume up to the maximum, and Merlin was swept away on a wave of music by the American guy with a similar name, Manson.  
  
 _...Some of them want to be abused..._  
  
A perfect song for a perfect day. 

 

Arthur couldn’t stand guys like Merlin. Too smart for their own good, too spoiled by their mummies’ attention and their daddies’ money. They searched for the meaning of life by getting stoned or high, so they could babble about some pseudo-philosophical rubbish and whine about being misunderstood. In reality, they needed a good arse kicking, a cold shower and their credit card access blocked for a month. Not a trail of expensive shrinks analyzing their patients' hypothetical childhood traumas and playing deep sympathy for a steep fee.  
  
All in all, when he sent Gwaine a short text with, “Merlin Emrys. Find out about him,” he planned to be done with Gaius’ request in a couple of hours. If Merlin was indeed using, Arthur was going to take great pleasure in kicking some sense into the guy, which would be killing two birds with one stone: it would help to save Balinor’s company an embarrassment, and allow Arthur to blow off some steam. He needed to hit the gym and spar with a punching bag anyway, why not use Merlin instead? Metaphorically speaking, of course.  
  
What he received from his ever-reliable friend Gwaine made him pause and think. Hmm, maybe his original plan being done in a couple of hours was a bit underestimated. The boy wasn’t that simple - and sly, to boot.  
  
Not that he worried, he’d seen worse.  
  
Once he parked next to a surprisingly small and cozy-looking cottage, Arthur got out of the car and smoothed down his jacket.  
  
“Bugger,” he swore quietly, inspecting his wrinkled suit. And this piece of shite cost him fifteen hundred quid?  
  
“Good day, Arthur,” someone called; Arthur looked up. Hunith was standing at the door of the house.  
  
“Mrs Emrys.” Arthur tilted his head in a polite nod.  
  
He’d seen her a few times before during the Christmas parties thrown by Uther every year. Hunith seemed a lot more attractive then, when she didn’t have dark circles under her eyes and web of fine wrinkles around them.  
  
“You look great.” She smiled, gesturing Arthur into the house.  
  
“Thank you, and you... as well, yes,” he lied awkwardly, rubbing his shoes on the welcome mat. “Where’s your little shite of a son?”  
  
Hunith didn’t even appear upset by his wording of the question. She squinted at him knowingly and pointed to the spiral staircase. “Second floor, third door down the hall. Would you like some tea?”  
  
“Thank you, but no. I’m not here for long.” Arthur nodded one more time and began walking in the direction she pointed.  
  
With each step, his irritation grew stronger. Unbelievable, this woman was a saint to carry this entire house on her shoulders, be supportive of her husband, who spent more time with his tubes in the lab than at home, and protect her son, who acted like nothing but a spoiled, ungrateful brat.  
  
If Arthur had a mum, he would never. He would... Stopping by the room he was looking for, he sucked in a deep breath. He had to calm down, or he’d definitely lose his shite and punch this blithering idiot with an inflated ego.  
  
No one answered when he rapped on the door. Arthur decided to forgo all formalities (as if anyone here was worth it to begin with!) and pushed it open.  
  
“Merlin Emrys, I see,” he murmured. He studied the guy sprawled on the bed wearing huge headphones and shaking his leg in time with music. “Nice to meet you.”

 

 

Of course, Merlin didn’t respond. Arthur didn’t need him to. Wrinkling his nose, he picked up a gross-looking hoodie with his two fingers, dropped it on the floor, and sat on the now free chair. He took his time to look around, trying to figure out how Merlin could manage to get anything accomplished living in such mess. His Chem books were dumped in one pile with CDs and magazines; there were mountains of crumpled paper and bread crumbs on his desk, mini-banners with cryptic chemical formulas and mindboggling terms hung from the ceiling; and the floor... Arthur preferred not to look at the floor.  
  
Yes, he had his work cut out for him. Obviously, this lad had an utter apocalypse taking over his brain; Arthur always figured biochemists and other scientists—for nutcases. Aliens, whose passion for a periodic table was part of their genetic code, making them a whackjob before they were even born. Why, why didn’t he say no to Gaius?  
  
“Who are you, loser?” husky voice pulled him out of his depressing thoughts.  
  
“Hello to you too, Merlin.” Pendragon gave him a grim smile. “I’m your new friend.”  
  
“Wrong door,” Merlin muttered, turning off his music.  
  
“I don’t think so.”  
  
“Not this again. Came to say hi from Gaius?” Merlin rolled his eyes. “I don’t need help from another shrink.”  
  
“Obviously.” Arthur pointedly looked around. “Excellent environment for being productive.”  
  
“Fuck off. Besides, you're trespassing.”  
  
“On the contrary, Mrs Emrys said I was very welcome.”  
  
“I wonder, what did they pay you?” Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Come on, don’t be shy; I already know your services to mindfuck me must cost a fortune.”  
  
“Which flatters your enormously inflated ego, doesn’t it?”  
  
“I can pay you.” Merlin patted around under his bed and pulled out a huge backpack. “How much?”  
  
“You’re not going to believe it—not a penny.” Arthur smirked. “I’m famous for my altruistic nature.”  
  
“Bullshit. How much?”  
  
“You can stop this spectacle.” Arthur no longer looked complacent, and Merlin instinctively hunched his shoulders and lowered his head when Arthur frowned and leaned forward. “My time is too expensive for you, and you’re already wasting it. Why don’t you just tell me how you turned into such a nitwit.”  
  
Merlin huffed, angry and exasperated. The second he got rid of this conceited arsehole he was calling Gaius. He’d tell him what he thought about his so-called support. Fuck the patience and good nature, not that he had much of that left anyway.  
  
“What for? You’re a head specialist, it’s your job to run your mouth.”  
  
“Should I skip the part about a rich daddy and his scamp of an off-spring, who acts like an arrogant prick, and go straight to the heart of the matter?” Arthur asked dryly. As he expected, there was no response. “Excellent, no soul-baring, tear-inducing discussions.”  
  
“Did Gaius decide to try a ‘good-cop, bad-cop’ tactic?” Merlin snorted and issued a fake yawn. “The shrinks before you were a lot more polite.”  
  
“I have no doubt.”  
  
“Listen, why don’t you just bugger off?” Merlin glanced at the door with longing. “I can pay you, for real, and everything will be splendid. No useless lectures for me, and no extra work—for you.”  
  
“Like I said—you can’t afford me.” Arthur reached into his bag and pulled several pieces of paper, folded in quarters. “Three _Lloyds TSB Bank_ credit cards canceled by your father, and about fifteen hundred pounds on your personal account opened last year with _Santander UK_. What, turning poor, slowly but surely? Your meth peddling business isn’t doing too well? Ah, that’s right, no more access to equipment to make it, you hapless lad you.” Arthur crumpled the already tattered paper and tossed it to Merlin on the bed. “There you go, you amateur.”  
  
Merlin gasped for air. How? Where did he get this information? Access to personal files? No one suspected he was selling meth at uni! He was careful about his cover, never made mistakes; he had a well-thought-out, reliable system, for fuck’s sake! He had the nickname Nemo for a reason and the junk he sold wasn’t called Nautilus for nothing. Poor great monsieur Verne, he was probably turning in his grave at such loose interpretation of his book.  
  
“How do you know?” His voice cracked, the phrase came out childishly weak.  
  
“Bond, double-o-seven.” Arthur rose from the chair; stretching languidly, he flexed his legs, and caught Merlin’s hunted expression, who immediately scowled. “Relax, your parents have no clue.”  
  
“Now you’re going to blackmail me?”  
  
“Don’t flatter yourself. I just feel bad for your mum, Merlin.” Arthur studied Merlin for a few thoughtful minutes and then, as if he had made a decision, nodded. “See you later.”  
  
“What? Where are you going?”  
  
“Home. It’s hard to imagine, I know, Merlin, but I have other things to do, besides you.”  
  
“But you must stay here and talk the talk with me!” Shocked, Merlin jumped to his feet and walked to Arthur.  
  
“I _mus_ t nothing. We’re done,” Arthur snipped and placed his hand on the door handle.  
  
“What the?...”  
  
“Time’s up, captain Nemo. Au plaisir.” Arthur saluted and walked out, leaving confused Merlin standing in the middle of the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes from the original story:**  
>  More on AsahiKasei corporation [here ](http://www.asahi-kasei.co.jp/asahi/en/)  
> _Nikkei 225_ \- is a stock market index for the Tokyo Stock Exchange. Currently, the Nikkei is the most widely quoted average of Japanese equities, similar to the Dow Jones Industrial Average.  
>  _Neuro-linguistic programming_ \- is an approach to communication, personal development, and psychotherapy, currently not unsupported by current scientific evidence. More information [here ](http://www.neurolinguisticprogramming.com/)  
> _NHS_ \- the British National Health Service.
> 
>  _Au plaisir_ \- “bye” in French  
>  \---------------------------------------
> 
> Story on [LJ](http://lullbeblessed.livejournal.com/884.html)


	2. Chapter 2

 

Merlin’s nail scratched across the already shredded edge of the laptop sticker, which he stubbornly picked at for the entire hour of the lecture. His nerves were fried. His withdrawal symptoms weren’t worth asking a doctor for a prescription, but nonetheless, Merlin felt like shite. Okay, the conversation with that tosser shook him up a little, making him, as his father put it, “come to his senses”.  Like a good boy, Merlin let the cleaning lady into his room, and watched her like a hawk so nothing vital from his precious collection of junk ended up in the trash. He came down for dinner, ate properly, took a shower and even went to bed before 2 am. He showed up for class this morning, damn it all! Now his thoughts were far away and had nothing to do with organic chemistry. His migraine was killing him, and he felt weak; his hands shook as if he were suffering from Parkinson’s.  
  
If he could just get fucked up and forget the world...  
  
 Noting in the file where they stopped with the lecture, Merlin closed the laptop screen, threw his backpack on his shoulder, and stalked toward the exit. Matt, his mate from another class, called his name; Merlin shook his head; he had no interest in talking, and went straight outside.  
  
He had no desire to explain himself; the inquisition from his family was enough. And why was it that he had to bare his soul, and they didn’t? His mum refused to talk about last night’s visitor. She mentioned his name—Arthur—and that was it, as if that could help Merlin anyhow. How could you dig up dirt on someone if all you knew was his first name and how he looked? Wouldn't it be great if he could ask on Google, “Hey, find that blond cocky arsehole with a superiority complex”?  
  
As it turned out, he didn’t need Google. Arthur was waiting for him by a car parked next to the entrance—audaciously taking the spot of dean A.G. Ravain. Merlin arranged his face into an unreadable expression and walked right past Arthur. He felt his bag being yanked, and Merlin grasped the strap harder and turned around.  
  
“Oh. I didn’t see you there.” He smiled wide. “What are you doing here?”  
  
Arthur gave him incredulous look; first dropping his gaze down and then slowly moving it up. As if Merlin were some spotty bird asking for a quick fuck, or an intern sent to fetch coffee for a big boss—a mix of appraisal and disdain.  
  
“Gaius said you’re smart. Your grades support his claim. Yet, simple logic eludes you.” Arthur sighed and then said slowly and clearly, practically spelling out every word, “I am waiting for _you_ , _Mer_ lin. Why else would I be here in the middle of my busy day? Get in the car.”  
  
“Hmmm.” Merlin pulled down the corners of his mouth as if he were in deep thought. “Fuck you. I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t like you and won't waste my time on you. How’s that?”  
  
“Not going to work.” Arthur yanked on the strap of Merlin’s backpack again. Merlin staggered back, losing his footing, and would’ve landed on his arse if Arthur hadn’t embarrassed him by catching him and tucking him into the backseat of the car with impressive agility. “I wasn’t offering, Merlin. Remember this: you do what I say.”  
  
The door closed with a soft click and the automatic locks engaged, like a deadbolt blocking any chance to escape. Something was wrong with this world, Merlin decided. He was practically being kidnapped, the entire campus as a witness, and no one said a single word to this bastard. Where was the highly-praised security, where were all those law abiding citizens, calling the police?  
  
Matt appeared out of nowhere at the perfect moment and walked straight to the car. Arthur flashed a brilliant smile, all white teeth, and waved a hand towards his captive as it was no big deal and said, “I’m picking someone up.”    
  
As if under a spell, Matt nodded, turned away and began unchaining his bike.  
  
“Are you mental?” Merlin raged as soon as Arthur took the driver seat.  
  
“Quiet.” Arthur switched gear and smoothly took off from the parking lot. “Think of it as if you were still in the waiting room and not in my office yet.”  
  
The car sped up easily and joined the traffic. Merlin briefly considered the suggestion but changed his mind. Why would he listen to this prick? Although, wait a minute... He wanted to dig up dirt on Arthur? Elementary! He’d note the license plate on the car and search the database. With his last name—hello Facebook, and other social media.  
  
“Cool car,” said Merlin. “Never seen anything like it.”  
  
“What’s the problem? Make money and buy one,” Arthur replied, switching lanes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I shut down your little venture, didn't I? By the way, Gwaine’s notified your mates to look for another supplier.”  
  
Merlin flopped back on the seat and crossed his arms.  
  
“Are you always this infuriating? It’s impossible to have a normal conversation with you. Oh, I know how you got this job. Gaius decided to throw you a bone and help you to get at least one client.”  
  
“Sure, sure, that’s why I’m driving this cool car,” Arthur agreed easily. “Like I said, logic isn’t your strongest suit.”  
  
Too bad Merlin had nothing available to throw at Arthur. A pair of smelly socks, for example, would be an excellent weapon. He should start carrying them around...  
  
His boiling agitation was interrupted by a ringing phone. To Merlin’s surprise, instead of a pop song or a funny phrase, Arthur’s ringtone was a standard sound like an old phone.  
  
“Hello.” Arthur pressed the button on his iPhone.  
  
“Just because you’re my boss, it doesn’t mean you can borrow my baby without talking to me first!” said an unfamiliar voice through the speakers without any preamble.  
  
Merlin swore inwardly. His genius plan had just crashed and burned: car’s license plates were no use to him.  
  
“Relax, I’ll bring it back in perfect condition,” said Arthur, not dropping his eyes from the road.  
  
“I swear, if I find just one scratch...”  
  
“If you try to take advantage of me and fix old damages on your baby at my expense, I’ll set George on you.”  
  
“You’re such an arsehole, do you know that?”  
  
“I have someone in the car who agrees with you wholeheartedly.” Arthur flicked the turn signal and took the next exit.  
  
“You have company? Hullo, my nameless ally!”  
  
“Sod off, Gwaine. When are you back in the office?”  
  
“Hm, around five. You know how those birds can be.”  
  
“Okay. Talk to you later.” Arthur ended the call and turned off the engine.  
  
Distracted by eavesdropping, Merlin hadn’t noticed that they seemed to have arrived at their destination. The phone call didn’t help one bit. Who was this bloke who dared to speak to his boss in such a manner? Especially to Arthur, who was practically married to his own ego! And, what birds? Questions were piling up like beer bottles at a wild party.  
  
“Like it so much you decided to live here? Get out.” Arthur opened the door and waited for Merlin to leave the car.  
  
“Aren’t you a charmer,” Merlin retorted, squinting at the bright sun. He whistled when he saw the name of the restaurant. The place wasn’t for your everyday folk to drop by for lunch. It was a fancy restaurant for executives with big wallets and for foodies, appreciating gourmet cuisine. “Is this a date? You should’ve warned me. They won’t let me in.”  
  
Merlin gestured at his tattered jeans covered in bleach spots from chemicals. His trainers were way past their prime as well. Merlin didn’t care; he rarely paid any attention to his physical appearance, especially at school. Warm and comfortable—what else did he need?  
  
“As long as you’re with me, you’re welcome anywhere,” Arthur said, shrugging, and pressed his car’s remote. The security alarm  beeped obediently.  
  
“Aren’t you mistaking me for Julia Roberts?” Merlin asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.  
  
“She wasn’t an addict, you movie buff.” Arthur pushed him forward slightly and walked behind.  
  
As Arthur predicted, the maitre d’ made no comment on Merlin’s outfit. They were led to a private booth, the Reserved plate removed from the table, and, after being handed the menus, left alone. Excellent customer service, no complaints. Merlin hated places like that—he was a lot more comfortable at the local cafe with flirty waitresses. Sure, your food might be cold and beer warm, but at least no one acted like a hopeless prat.  
  
“You’d prefer McDonalds?”  
  
“They have the best chips.” Merlin scratched at the leather of the menu and immersed himself in it. Alas, the opportunity to choose his own food didn’t come. Arthur took away their menus and pressed the call button on the table. The waitress appeared immediately. “Two of your specials. One salad. Water.”  
  
She quickly noted the order on her notepad. “And for dessert, sir?”  
  
“Surprise us.” Arthur smiled, unleashing his charm on the girl, and kept his eyes on her as she walked away.  
  
“Small dick syndrome?” Merlin pressed his elbows on the table. “Why do you have to make decisions for everyone? To compensate?”  
  
“Nice try, Emrys.” Arthur switched his phone to silent. “Let’s go back to the beginning. And this time without a long prelude. Tell me how you turned into a low-life, small-time dealer and became an addict.”  
  
Merlin’s rage reached a boiling point in no time. He knew he was about to lose it horribly but couldn’t control it any longer—and didn’t really want to.  
  
“Why skip the prelude? I love foreplay! It really turns me on,” he said and, abruptly changing seats, flattened himself against Arthur, finding his lips. His hand wrapped comfortably around Arthur’s shoulder, crumpling fabric under his fingers, while his tongue licked into his mouth, taking over. It was a risky move; Merlin mentally prepared himself to be pushed away, but Arthur leaned in, his palm stroking Merlin’s back, and deepened the kiss.  
  
Fuck, what was wrong with this guy?  
  
Merlin felt a sharp pang of regret that this was just a provocation. He wouldn’t mind if this date were real. Too bad it would never happen again.  
  
Shifting back, Merlin settled next to Arthur and sighed. He did feel bad, but this handsome bastard here had brought this on himself. It wasn’t Merlin fault.  
  
“And this concludes our special programming,” he said calmly, looking Arthur straight in the eye. It felt great to be in control of the situation again!  
  
“Oh really.” Arthur rubbed his chin.  
  
Oh god, he was more stupid than he thought. “Absolutely.” Merlin took a glass of water from the waiter, who just returned, and, when they’d been served, added, “You’re fired. You can no longer be my therapist.”  
  
“Why is that?” Arthur snatched a slice of gherkin served as a garnish and began crunching on it.  
  
“Seriously? Arthur, don’t be a sore loser. You broke the code.”  
  
The guy should’ve been an actor! Arthur frowned as if he had no clue what was happening. “What code?”  
  
No pity for the ignorant.  
  
“God, do you even have a degree as a shrink, you wanker? The code. According to which you can’t have any personal contact with your client. One call, and you can say bye-bye to your license.”  
  
Arthur didn’t have to know, but Merlin wasn’t a heartless bastard to ruin someone’s career. Although, if this shite kept pissing him off...  
  
“Ah, I see.” Arthur stole another slice of gherkin from the plate. “I didn’t break any code.”  
  
“We kissed. You kissed me back,” Merlin reminded condescendingly. Suddenly, he was worried. Arthur was too calm.  
  
“It’d be stupid to refuse someone coming on to you so willingly...” Arthur paused and corrected himself, “...or falling for you.”  
  
His cheeks flamed. Merlin always blushed easily—thanks to the fair skin he inherited from his mum. What the fuck? He framed this fool, yet Arthur talked as if Merlin was flirting with him or acting like a snotty teenager!  
  
“You did break it,” Merlin helplessly suggested again. All his clever arguments dissolved like a plume of smoke in the wind.  
  
Arthur studiously checked the content of his plate and picked up the silverware.  
  
“First of all, Emrys, I did not initiate personal contact—you did. Second, I don’t have a degree or a license in psychiatry, therefore I have no code to follow. Lastly, I’m still waiting for you to tell me your story. Or do you use your mouth exclusively for tongue-fucking?”  
  
Disaster. It was an absolute, pride-shattering, with no hope for recovery, disaster. Merlin slowly slid away from Arthur, pressed a napkin to his mouth, wiping away Arthur’s imprints, and glanced at his watch. They arrived about fifteen minutes ago. He’d just stay quiet and wait until Arthur left. If Merlin broke down and started trashing this restaurant, his father wouldn’t stop just at taking away his cards. Truthfully, he had no energy for any sort of debacle. Defeat drained him, leaving emptiness and apathy inside him. His only mission at this point was to sit through this sodding lunch and make it to the garage in the evening. So he had no willpower, whatever. Merlin was dead tired.  
  
He had no appetite, but sitting still was even worse. Like a robot, he began eating, food tasteless on his tongue.  
  
The phone beeped, and Arthur finished his water and stood up.  
  
“That was productive. Thank you for such an enlightening conversation.”  
  
“Any time,” Merlin replied, not trying to hide his sarcasm.  
  
“Oh well. Okay, I can see you don’t want to do it the easy way. I have to take a different approach.”  
  
Arthur unbuttoned his jacket, and Merlin looked at him wide-eyed. The most unbridled thoughts swirled in his head—and all for naught. Arthur pulled a few pieces of paper from the inside pocket and threw them on the table.  
  
Merlin swallowed hard. His hands started to shake again, just like earlier during the class. If his parents saw this...  
  
“What do you want?”  
  
He’d do anything. God, he couldn’t even imagine his mum’s face—she wouldn’t survive this.  
  
“World peace and no dickheads around me.” Arthur’s words were so out of place, Merlin just stared at him for several moments, dumbfounded.  
  
“Fuck, I’m serious!”  
  
“Me, too.” Arthur buttoned up his suit again. “It took my guy no more than a few hours to dig this up. If he could do it, anyone else driven by the right motivation could, too. Think about it.”  
  
“But...”  
  
“That’ll be all.” Arthur pressed the call button on the table, indicating the end of their lunch. “Time’s up.”

 

 

_It’s like a sodding groundhog day,_ Merlin thought, getting into the taxi called by his father. Seriously, that was the third time as of late he had been bossed around. This morning, his father simply said, “By the way, you’re meeting Arthur in two hours. I already called for a cab.” And now Merlin was being dragged somewhere through the never-ending London traffic.  
  
He had no desire to see Arthur. That insufferable knob knew all about him. Fuck, he even had the detailed statements from his bank account. Merlin’s back account! He trusted Santander! All right, as soon as he took care of the situation with Arthur, he’d file a complaint and withdraw all his money from that bank. For now... for now he had to somehow make it work with this self-centred arsehole, so he could be done with the useless shrink sessions as soon as possible. He couldn’t believe someone had been trying to fuck with his head without even a bloody proper degree! Obviously, his father was at the end of his rope.  
  
When the car stopped at the already familiar restaurant, Merlin had outlined a strategy for himself, and if Arthur didn’t like it, then Merlin had no qualms about shutting up and not cooperating.  
  
Arthur was already at the table in the same private booth. After a polite greeting, Merlin sat down across the table and picked up the menu.  
  
“I hope you’ll let me choose my own food this time,” he said, trying to be nonchalant.  
  
“Certainly,” Arthur agreed leisurely. “So, how are you?”  
  
“Brilliant, sir.” Merlin flashed a fake smile, burying his nose in the shiny pages of the menu. “Like a man who came to confess his sins.”  
  
“That’s the spirit.” Arthur sat back into the cushy seat. “Then let’s get on with it, my son, I’m all ears.”  
  
“Where do I start?” Merlin bit his lip, feigning deep thought. “How about I start with my happy childhood? Oh, I was happy, so happy as a child. Since age five I’ve been spending my time in my father’s lab. At ten, I performed my first experiment, which could best the upper level studies in complexity.”  
  
“Well done.” Arthur smirked and turned to the waitress. “Same as last time. Merlin?”  
  
“I feel like having chicken. This one.” Merlin poked the line in the menu. “And tea, please.”  
  
“Go on.”  
  
“When I got older, all I cared about was chemistry. Many people say I was robbed of my childhood, but that’s completely untrue. I loved, and I still do, messing with the lab equipment and studying chemical reactions... It’s in my blood.” Merlin snorted.  
  
So far, it was going swimmingly. He was feeding Arthur a well-prepared story. Arthur listened and, thank God, wasn’t commenting. To be fair, it wasn’t hard, since Merlin was telling the truth. Of course, he was omitting certain details. Like the time when his father whipped his arse because Merlin broke the tube with an experimental drug, or when the spilled acid ate through the rug. Or how his father kept him from participating in science experiments for the longest time, citing his young age, although at thirteen, Merlin was more advanced than a college student. Arthur didn’t have to know any of that.  
  
“How were things at school?” Arthur asked lazily.  
  
“Great. No one bullied me; the opposite, actually.” Merlin grinned. “I was respected and loved. Especially when I let them cheat off my tests. All last year, I dated the most popular girl at school. My best friend and I both wanted her; we even had a falling out because of that.” Merlin laughed. “So bloody stupid! Basically, it was all fine. It’s still fine. At uni, they were biased at first, although they didn’t show it. But I always know when people try to assess me—see if I can pull it off. Everyone knows my father and his company, nothing I can do. I have excellent grades, I’m sure Gaius told you. And that’s pretty much it. Oh, food’s here!” Merlin cheerfully grabbed a fork and picked up a piece of juicy-looking chicken fillet from the plate.  
  
“I see.” Arthur jerked his head in a nod, and, after taking a sip of water, started eating his salad. “What did you say the name of your best friend was?”  
  
A chill ran down Merlin’s spine. No way.  
  
“Will. I didn’t tell you his name.”  
  
“Will, then. Tell me about him. About the falling out.”  
  
“Why do you care?” Merlin tried to keep his voice even. “I told you, it was stupid. Haven’t you ever had a fight with a mate because of a girl?”  
  
“Never with my best mate, no.” Arthur raised his head and look straight at Merlin, and Merlin was the first to drop the gaze. “And it obviously affected you.”  
  
“Rubbish,” Merlin scoffed.  
  
“Sure, keep saying that.“  
  
“There is nothing to say!” Merlin bristled. “I already told you, Freya chose me. Not Will. And he didn’t take it well.”  
  
“He didn’t take it well because Freya chose you? Or because he thought she did it for your money?” clarified Arthur.  
  
“What... you... She chose me for me! She was in love with me!”  
  
“I’m not arguing about that. I’m asking what Will thought,” Arthur said in unexpectedly soft voice. “And it looks like I just found your sore spot.”  
  
Merlin wordlessly bored his eyes into the plate. _Found his sore spot_... More like rubbed salt into a wound, mindfucker! It had been a year since he last talked to Will, with whom he had been inseparable since they were kids. After their fight, Will yelled that everyone was friends with Merlin because of his social status and money. Merlin still didn’t believe Will really meant it. He was his best friend, almost like a brother—his words were worse than betrayal. Furious, Merlin didn’t hesitate to beat Will with his own stick. “Oh then, are you in it for the money, too?”  
  
That was the end of it. Will cursed him up and down; a fight broke out. They ignored each other the next day. Time passed, proving Freya’s genuine feelings for Merlin, but it didn’t help Merlin from feeling like shite. Will changed seats in class, choosing the furthest table, and even after a month, and then two, hadn’t attempted to make peace. Merlin had never realised until that point how tight they were before, how much he missed him. He had constantly caught himself having internal conversation with his friend, commenting on one or another problem he was working on. Stopped himself when his hand reached for the phone. Tried to not pay attention to the new fun friends Will had surrounded himself with.  
  
That was when Merlin buried himself in books, formulas, and calculations; and soon the experimental dose of meth found its first client.  
  
“Merlin?” Arthur snapped his fingers at his face.  
  
“What?”  
  
“People will always envy you. You have to accept it—you carry your family’s name.”  
  
“Will didn’t envy me! We’ve been friends since childhood!”  
  
“Then it’s especially strange he let a girl come between your friendship.”  
  
“I understand what you’re trying to say, but I disagree.”  
  
“Too bad,” Arthur said and drummed his fingers on the table. “I’m afraid this won’t be the last time you’ll be disappointed, then.”  
  
“You’re saying it like you’ve been there before,” muttered Merlin.  
  
“I deal with jealous people all the time.”  
  
“For simpletons, I’m willing to repeat it again: Will was not bloody jealous!”  
  
“All right, all right,” agreed Arthur, his whole demeanor indicating he didn’t believe him even for a moment. “Have you even tried to talk to him?’  
  
“Me? No.”  
  
“This is worse than primary school, I swear,” muttered Arthur.  
  
“”What?” Merlin narrowed his eyes.  
  
“I’m saying that’s enough for today,” said Arthur, pulling out his credit card and handing it to the just-arrived waiteress. “I have to go.”  
  
“Well, I didn’t finish eating. I see no point in depriving myself, especially when it’s already paid for,” Merlin declared and picked up his fork.  
  
Arthur smirked and punched his pin into the keypad to pay the bill. “You’re leaving the tip.”  
  
“Whatever, doctor Freud, go work for... whatever greater good you work for.”  
  
“Oh shut it.” Arthur smiled crookedly, and, with a good-bye salute, left the booth.  
  
“Would you like to order anything else?” said the waitress.  
  
“Oh no, I’m full, thank you. Everything was really tasty.” Merlin pulled a crumpled twenty out of his pocket. “Looks like Arthur loves this place.”  
  
“Oh, Mr Pendragon is a loyal customer. He comes here often.”  
  
“And I can see why.” Merlin smiled. “Your food exceeds expectations.” Getting up from the table, Merlin put on his sunglasses and left the half-full restaurant.  
  
 _Arthur Pendragon, then._  
  
His life was making a sharp turn, and Merlin couldn’t wait to see where it was taking him this time.

 

 

He shouldn’t have used Google, seriously. Merlin spent the last hour clicking one link after another and wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Of course, he’d heard of Uther Pendragon; his father only told him the story how their first lab got to see the light of the day a million times. But no one ever mentioned Arthur. And Arthur’s company came as a complete surprise to Merlin. The guy who took him under his wing wasn’t just some shrink. Merlin could read between the lines; and behind all the politically-correct phrasing he clearly recognised the, “Arthur Pendragon will turn you inside-out and back, and deny he had anything to do with it.”  
  
 _Thanks, Gaius, thank you very much._ Now he could see why Arthur was coddling him. The Pendragons were _Emrys Chemicals_ ’ stock holders, and a scandal could hurt their bottom line. Arthur probably had to sacrifice virgins to the bloody God of Money. Merlin’s thoughts trailed off as he started imagining Arthur without his usual business attire, wrapped in a loin cloth and with a knife in his hand. The image was very inspiring.  
  
“Shite, I’m not even high.”  
  
Merlin clicked around, closing all windows, and pushed himself away from the table. It looked like he owed Arthur a visit on his territory. To take a few shots at him, talk to him man to man.  
  
Besides, Merlin couldn’t wait to see Arthur’s face when he realised Merlin figured him out, despite all the secrecy.  
  
“Maybe you aren’t as good as you think, Pendragon?”

 

 

The building was posh. His father’s main lab, as well as the headquarters in London, weren’t bad either, but they paled in comparison with Arthur’s office. Pendragon obviously loved to dress to impress.  
  
Merlin paid the cabbie, fixed the sunglasses on his nose, and walked towards security at the entrance. The man looked like a dressed up dummy—completely still and unnaturally immaculate. However, as soon as Merlin came close enough, the guard snapped out of his trance, smiled pleasantly, and asked for his name.  
  
He was satisfied with the offered ID. Merlin was led inside, all glass and steel, and handed off to a pleasant looking lady, who issued him a visitor badge. One call later, and Merlin was politely given directions to the lift.  
  
The interior of Arthur’s floor was drastically different. It wasn’t screaming high-tech, the design was typical Victorian elegance and class. Mahogany desks, rosewood panels on the walls, understated chandeliers... Expensive, at the same time warm. Inviting you to relax, enjoy a cup of coffee while signing a mutually-beneficial contract.  
  
But Merlin wasn’t going to be fooled.  
  
“Mr Emrys, I take it?” A young man with thin face and dark curly hair stood up to greet him. “I’m Morris, Mr Pendragon’s personal assistant.”  
  
“Nice to meet you.” Merlin had to suppress an impulse to blow a bubble with his chewing gum. Morris was the epitome of order and perfection, and he was tempted to do something... inappropriate.  
  
“I just checked Mr Pendragon’s schedule and your name is not in it. Did you call prior to your visit?”  
  
“No.” Merlin braced himself. They wanted to treat him like a spoiled son of his rich daddy? Then he wouldn’t disappoint. “But you must know, I have an urgent matter.”  
  
Morris’ indifference was as impenetrable as stone.  
  
“Mr Pendragon is in a meeting. I can let him know you wanted to see him, he’ll schedule a time.”  
  
“No, thank you.” Merlin made an effort to smile wide. “I’ll wait.”  
  
Nerves exhausted him. But he was determined to persevere, wait for Arthur and talk. If he didn’t do it today, he wouldn’t have the guts to come here again. Besides, the whole idea was to be unexpected, so Arthur wasn’t warned about his visit.  
  
“Of course, take a seat,” Morris cordially agreed, “but you should know...”  
  
Merlin pulled his phone out of the pocket and defiantly started playing with the menu buttons. Morris gave up.  
  
“Tea or coffee, Mr Emrys?”  
  
“Coke.”  
  
Thirty seconds later Merlin grabbed the cold glass with the fizzing drink and took a deep breath. It was going to go just splendidly.

 

 

Arthur liked to work with Asians. Complicated, unpredictable, without facial expressions—they posed an excellent challenge for his business skills. They wouldn’t fall for bright pictures and graphs promising them gold mines. They’d check every single letter and number, wouldn’t forget about country regulations, remember every law and politely decline if they found one unclear word in the contract. Communicating with them was even more difficult: different culture, different traditions. You could inadvertently say something offensive and not know it until you got the same polite decline.  
  
This particular deal was especially challenging. Arthur constantly felt as if he had too much coffee—his thoughts spun with dizzying velocity, his mind couldn’t rest even in his sleep.  
  
Arthur had just said his good-byes to Mr Tosimoto and walked to his office with Gwaine. Nodding to Morris, he placed his phone into his pocket, squinted at the calendar on the assistant’s screen, checking what was next on his schedule, and was startled when Gwaine nudged his shoulder.  
  
“Arthur, you suck as a secret agent. Remind me to teach you a lesson or two when we’re done with the yakuza.”  
  
Arthur turned around and almost groaned out loud. What was Emrys doing here? Although... the nervous look on Merlin’s face somewhat softened his own shock.  
  
Arthur laughed and pushed Gwaine back.  
  
“I don’t have your experience. It’s your girlfriends who turn into stalkers and force you to play hide-and-seek.” Arthur handed to Morris the file he was holding and asked, “Can you free up twenty minutes?”  
  
“No problem, sir.”  
  
“Move it, Emrys.” Arthur opened the door to his office. If this boy expected a more hospitable reception, he was going to be sorely disappointed.  
  
“The moment of your triumph?” Arthur placed his jacket on the hanger, loosened his tie and started rolling up his sleeves. “How did you find me?”  
  
“The waitress,” Merlin responded lazily, crossing his arms on his chest.  
  
Arthur snorted. Well, it was his fault. Should’ve warned Jessica. Merlin, in the meantime, openly enjoyed his win. Arthur wasn’t going to interrupt him—let him gloat for a minute or two. He’d earned it.  
  
“So, this is what it’s all about.” Merlin rolled the glass with almost finished Coke between his fingers and placed it on the table. Thankfully, not on the files. “You’re worried about your money? Stocks plummeting if _Emrys Chemicals_ gets involved in a scandal?”  
  
 _Honesty is the best weapon, say ‘hi’ to it, Merlin._  
  
“As a result of the last year, our profit share from _Emrys Chemicals_ stocks barely reached seven percent in overall gain, Merlin. It would be sad to lose, but not tragic. Besides, we are talking stock options, not common stocks. Do you know the difference, or should I explain it to you?”  
  
“You lose nothing,” hissed Merlin. “Then why the fuck do you bloody care? Why don’t you leave me alone? All you need to do is call my father and tell him you’re done with me!”  
  
“I _don’t_ care,” Arthur agreed, his mood improving. Teasing Emrys was an exceptionally pleasant experience. “ _You_ should. Did you already call Will?”  
  
“No, what for?” Merlin clammed up and bristled, ready to defend himself.  
  
“Don’t you want to fix it?” Arthur leaned forward, clasping his hands. “And take an opportunity to find out whether he was jealous or not? I think he was. Regardless, he isn’t your best lad anymore, right?”  
  
“You don’t decide who’s my friend and who’s not,” Merlin said suddenly and very calmly, looking Arthur straight in the eye.  
  
Gaius was right, this boy had plenty of magnetism. Although he had nothing on Arthur yet.  
  
“You don’t become an addict because of your best friends,” he bit out and checked the time. “Now, get out of here. I have a meeting.”  
  
Merlin shook his head, rose to his feet and glanced at Arthur with cold condescension.  
  
“You are an idiot if you still didn’t get it. I use not because I’m off my nut. And not because I’m missing my school chum. I’m just bored.”  
  
Arthur stared at the door until it closed, narrowed his eyes and dialed Morris. Perhaps it was time to send Merlin a little gift.  
  
He’d like it.


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin re-read the email and clicked the “x” to close it. Mr Kevin Elgar, his father’s Research Lab Manager, had politely but firmly declined his application. For the fifth time.  
  
Maybe next time he should try it under a fake name? But the lab would ask for a proof of his previous experience in research, and Merlin had none. And he couldn’t pretend to be someone else when everyone had known him there since he was a kid.  
  
It was driving him mad. His father hired a lot of talented young people regardless of their background—as long as it wasn’t hurting the company. He often paid for his employees’ education in return for them staying and working for him after graduation. Yet, what was routinely granted to some lads practically from the street was denied to his own bloody son.  
  
Merlin didn’t lie to Arthur when he told him he loved his family’s business. Since a young age, his passion was chemistry: the chemical reactions, the formulas, the compositions. He was amused to no end by The Discovery Channel programmes explaining how to make Egyptian papyrus at home, or dissolve an iron grill with a hot sauce. There was nothing better than to camp out on the couch and, while crunching on popcorn, watch “MythBusters”, episode after episode. And Merlin could spend hours in the lab, forgetting himself and the time. He was enchanted by the rows of test tubes, burners, spatulas, scoopulas, scales, by huge periodic table posters, and his own experiments. He was never afraid to get injured or poisoned by inhaling some crap. He remembered sharing with his friends at school that seemingly harmless fumes of _hydrogen sulphide_ are extremely toxic and in high concentration can kill with one breath. On the other hand, the same fumes in a stinking mud bath had a scientifically proven healing effect on people. This power of chemical elements to be both a poison and a cure made his heart race in his chest. Chemistry could heal or destroy—and it was all about who used the knowledge and with what intentions.  
  
But knowledge wasn’t all of it. Despite what others thought, Merlin didn’t consider himself brilliant in everything. On the contrary—in life, he suffered from constant bouts of insecurity, but in a lab, he knew that in a lab he was practically a god. Balinor was considered a very talented scientist, while Merlin, according to a popular opinion, was promising to turn into a genius researcher.  
  
Alas, it was hard to meet someone’s expectations when your hands were tied. Merlin was allowed into the lab only under supervision and couldn’t make a single step outside of given instructions. If he wanted to run his own test, he had to send an official request, which would land on his father’s desk. Balinor had always approved... but the test always had to be performed by someone else. By those who actually _had_ graduated college and had a degree. Merlin saw the results and could either be proud of them or continue improving the formula if it didn’t work, but he’d always been robbed of the sweetest prize—of seeing the test with his own eyes.  
  
That was why he’d sunk so low. Rented a dilapidated house in the outskirts of the city, equipped it the best he could, and began to synthesise the drug. He couldn’t afford more serious and interesting tests knowing their potential destroying power. He was somewhat mollified by the fact that at least he could enjoy what he loved to do best without being supervised. In addition, profit from meth turned out to be a useful tool for buying more equipment for his mini-lab. How else could Merlin explain to his father bloody why he needed a centrifuge?  
  
This pain could’ve been avoided entirely if Balinor wasn’t so stubborn and let him do his experiments in his lab. Merlin pushed away his laptop and sprawled out on his bed. This arsehole Arthur had no clue what was really going on with Merlin. Rubik’s Cube wouldn’t solve his self-fulfilment problem and wouldn’t make his father treat Merlin as an adult.  
  
Rubik’s _bloody_ Cube. Unwrapping the present, Merlin slapped himself in the forehead. Did Arthur mean to embarrass him? Did he really consider him a child?  
  
Disgruntled, Merlin crossed his eyes—from this angle he could partly see the nightstand, the backpack he’d dropped on the floor near the table, and the colorful corner of the cube. So, was that how Arthur supposed Merlin should kill his boredom? Shame, because meth could keep him occupied for a lot longer than forty-nine seconds.  
  
Meth. His last stash had been transferred from the garage to the back pocket of his jeans yesterday. Merlin nervously licked his lips and looked at the half-cracked door. His mum was busy in the kitchen, making his father’s favorite pork stew. Today was their wedding anniversary, it would be bloody selfish to ruin this special day from them.  
  
Oh well, he could take a bump in his lab, or in the club in a couple of hours. What was the difference?  
  
The process of dressing up took an unusually long time. Merlin slowly did up a mohawk, as if making a frame by frame movie. Gel kept sticking to his fingers, strands of hair taking shape, and finally it was properly done. Or properly undone, depending on the point of view.  
  
Grabbing his leather jacket and trying to make as little noise as possible, Merlin ran down the stairs.  
  
“Where are you going?” Hunith walked into the hall, wiping her hands. Merlin swore inwardly. “Can’t you stay home today?”  
  
 _Here we go._ Same soft-caring tone that only made his guilt grow bigger inside. With a hint of mistrust, causing nothing but resentment.  
  
“To see Arthur. He called me,” Merlin lied, pushing the laces inside his Converses.  
  
“This late?” Hunith wondered.  
  
“Maybe he has long working hours.” Merlin shrugged his shoulders. “See you.”  
  
He doubted his parents were going to call Arthur. They had other things to do in his absence. Somehow everyone else in the world was busy with something, except Merlin.  
  
Actually, why not pay a visit to Arthur tonight? Considering he kind of left his client hanging. Snorting, Merlin jumped оnto the incoming bus and turned on the music: Arthur’s office was about half an hour away.  
  
The guards at the Pendragon’s office took their time studying his ID and finally issued Merlin a visitor’s badge. The receptionist mildly wished him a good evening. The last obstacle was to get around Arthur’s overly loyal personal assistant (part-time Cerberus), and the mission would be accomplished.  
  
This time, Morris wasn’t very surprised to see him.  
  
“Hello,” Merlin greeted him politely. “Working late until your master sets you free?”  
  
“Good evening. How can I help you?” Morris was his usual stone-cold impassive self. Like a Japanese-Korean robot. An exemplary employee.  
  
“You can help me by letting me see Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin replied ceremoniously. He even removed his hands out of his pockets.  
  
Not easily fooled, Morris frowned and picked up the phone. “Mr Pendragon, someone here... Yes, I remember... I certainly didn’t want to interrupt you, but Mr Emrys is here asking to see you. Yes, in person. Very well.”  
  
“So, will he see me?” Merlin tried to be friendly with Morris. For some reason, he felt bad for this bloke who had just been chastised for nothing. Looked like Arthur wasn’t in the best mood.  
  
What should Merlin expect, then?  
  
While he was speculating, Morris walked away from his desk and opened the door to Arthur’s office.  
  
“Can I get you anything, Mr Emrys?”  
  
“Yes, water.” Merlin nodded, entering the already familiar room.  
  
The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. So much so, Merlin thought if he touched anything, he’d be hit by electric shock. Arthur didn’t pay his visitor any attention, and Merlin, after a short hesitation, sat on the edge of the table.  
  
“What do you want?” Arthur grudgingly asked at last.  
  
“You’re rude. Where are your manners?” Merlin was about to laugh and stopped himself, suddenly losing his wit. Arthur didn’t look amiable at all. Finishing typing a sentence, he raised his head and finally deigned a glance at Merlin.  
  
“Fuck the manners today,”  he said quietly. “Who told you that you could come here?”  
  
“Do I need a special invitation?” Merlin was taken aback.  
  
“Indeed. My _personal_ invitation. I have loads of things to do, and no time for your fits.”  
  
“Should I tell my daddy you decided to drop our sessions?” Merlin grabbed the opportunity.  
  
For some reason the thought was upsetting. Sure, he didn’t expect to be greeted with hugs and kisses, but he didn’t deserve to be belittled and disrespected, either. Even that first time Arthur didn’t treat him as if he was a piece of shite. Somewhat condescending, yes, but not as if he was a baby.  
  
“Shut up. What do you want?”  
  
“Well, you are my therapist. I came for a session—if that’s what you want to call it.” Merlin scowled. He should’ve gone to the club instead.  
  
“That’s right. I’m your therapist and I schedule your ‘so-called sessions’. Understood? Now, get on with it. What’s going on?”  
  
“Nothing much. I’m just bored.”  
  
Dead silence filled the air. A smile, permanently fixed on his face was starting to hurt his muscles, but Merlin was determined to play the gentleman. Although an unpleasant feeling of doom kept growing in his gut.  
  
“You’re _bored_?” Arthur asked in disbelief.  
  
 _That’s it. He’ll smack me._  
  
“Well, yes. Thank you for the Rubik’s Cube, by the way, but I’ve been able to solve it in less than a minute since I was a kid.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
Merlin sighed and removed the intricate colourful toy from his pocket. He studied it carefully from all sides, rolled it in demonstration in front of Arthur’s face, to prove the cube was indeed not solved yet. He softly counted, “one, two, three,” and then his hands started moving in automatic motion, manipulating the puzzle. Shortly, the perfectly assembled toy was dropped on the table before Arthur.  
  
“Forty-nine and half seconds,” Arthur stated, checking the watch.  
  
“My point. Not the most entertaining pastime.” Merlin stretched leisurely, and then extracted a small packet with crystals inside. “Do you mind?”  
  
Arthur didn’t say anything. Merlin shook out the content of the packet onto the perfectly-polished oak table, meticulously working it into straight lines using his canceled credit card. He smiled brightly at a startled Morris, who just walked in and placed a glass of water next to him.  
  
“And what are you waiting for?” Arthur impatiently flipped his hand at Merlin, giving him a go-ahead. “Go on, snort the shite.”  
  
“You’re letting me? How nice of you. I hope you won’t run your mouth about this.”  
  
“Actually, I’ll do you better, I’ll help you.” Arthur pulled a note out of his wallet and threw it to Merlin.  
  
“Why so generous?” Merlin said with acid in his tone, twisting the note between his fingers. Something was amiss. Not right.  
  
“You’re wrong. This is for the sake of saving. Go ahead, snort it already. The faster you tweak the fuck on, the sooner I’ll be free of this bloody buggery, and everyone will be happy. Me, for one. I suspect you, too, although not for long, but that’s not my problem anymore.”

 

Merlin swallowed hard. _Brilliant_ , what else was there to say. His fingers shook as he rolled the note. Arthur, not paying him any attention, immersed himself in his laptop again. As if showing Merlin he no longer existed in his perfect and stable world.  
  
And he was right. Merlin would feel great for the first five hours. After that—empathising and disappointed looks from Gaius, mum’s quiet wailing, dad’s exhausting lectures. And a bone-deep disgust with himself. For giving up so easily.  
  
Arthur’s phone started ringing, and while he was answering the call, Merlin picked up the glass of water Morris brought in earlier. He took a few sips, watching the knackered-looking Arthur. He probably did have a lot to deal with. He probably barely had any sleep.  
  
Merlin huffed, accepting his own defeat. Arthur was a hopeless git, but if Merlin finished what he just started, he’d lose the only person who could shake him out of his misery. The only one who could help.  
  
When Arthur put down his cell, Merlin reach out and tipped the glass. The water splashed all over the table, turning the crystals into a mess. Arthur arched his eyebrows.  
  
“I’m unbelievably clumsy.” His face was getting numb from the fake grin.  
  
Without a word, Arthur pressed the button on the phone on his desk. A moment later, Morris appeared through the opened door.  
  
“Morris, see Mr Emrys out and clean this up, please. “  
  
 _Got to learn how to lose, too._ Merlin slid from his spot and, nodding to Arthur, shuffled to the exit.  
  
“I’ll contact you, Mr Emrys.”  
  
Dumbfounded, Merlin didn’t get an opportunity to respond; when he turned around, Morris already shut the door to his boss’s office.

 

The phone in his pocket started shaking in a silent seizure. Merlin pulled it out, glanced at the name on the screen, and took the call.  
  
“I was just thinking about you. How annoying you are.”  
  
“Yes-yes.” It seemed as if Arthur wasn’t listening to Merlin. Someone was arguing in the background, and Merlin recognised something said by Arthur in subdued voice, “Not my problem, take him with you... _Mer_ lin!”  
  
“Piss off.”  
  
“Don’t be a prat or I’ll tell your mummy. I have something fun for you to do tomorrow. Be ready by eleven.”  
  
“Your brilliant therapy methods include missing school?”  
  
“Gaius said you’d already submitted some shite or other to him, so you’re supposed to be free.”  
  
“Gaius should nutter less.” Merlin sighed.  
  
“Be a good boy. And say bye-bye to your boredom,” Arthur said and hung up.  
  
Merlin gaped at the phone. Did he imagine it, or had Arthur just flirted with him? In any case, his mood had changed drastically. His annoyance with his dad faded away, and all his thoughts rushed in the direction of the promising entertainment.  
  
The doorbell rang at exactly eleven o’clock. Merlin heard their maid’s hurried steps; how she exchanged a few words with someone. Turning off the movie, he snorted, threw the hood of his jacket on, and was already pushing the handle when the door suddenly opened.  
  
“You?” Merlin couldn’t hold back a surprised exclamation.  
  
“Me,” Gwaine agreed, ruffling Merlin’s perfectly mussed hair. “I see you’re ready. Brilliant.”  
  
“I thought... Oh, sod it, no matter.”  
  
Merlin was out of sorts. Nothing was going his way, the way he imagined it.  
  
“Arthur’s a busy man. He had no time for you today,” Gwaine announced bluntly. “I hope you don’t mind making my life miserable instead of his for a day?”  
  
“I have no problem staying home,” Merlin bit out, suppressing the impulse to add something rude.  
  
“What’s so exciting here? Come on, we’re going on an adventure! You’ve spent enough time in your room, lad.” Gwaine smiled, and Merlin couldn’t resist his undeniable charm.  
  
“Fine.” He nodded, patting his pockets. Seemed like he had everything he needed.  
  
“Uh, no.” Gwaine watched him and shook his head. “Do you have a suit? Something formal, for a business meeting with snobby plonkers?”  
  
Merlin sniggered. Barely holding the laugh in, he jerked his head toward his wardrobe. Gwaine opened the doors without hesitation and started shuffling the hangers. Finally, he paused on one suit he seemed to like: light-beige with thin brown stripes. Merlin hated it: he looked like a sodding middle-aged paper-pusher in it.  
  
“This!” Gwaine announced, pulling out the discovered outfit. “We’ll use this one.”  
  
Not only did Merlin not argue—he didn’t ask a single question. He didn’t count on Gwaine to bother with explanations—this bloke wouldn’t share a single thing until he decided it was time.  
  
Merlin hurriedly said bye to his mum and plonked himself on the passenger seat of the already familiar car. It was nice to feel like a guest and not a captive for once.  
  
“Does my boss drive you bonkers?” Gwaine asked, rolling away from the curb.  
  
“It’s not always easy with him.” Merlin tried to be diplomatic.  
  
“Sometimes I picture killing him. Usually by throwing him down the stairs and then kicking him to finish off,” Gwaine shared. “It helps tremendously after a long, hard day, when instead of expressing his admiration of my work he pretends any tosser could do it.”  
  
“Is he one of those people who never says thanks?”  
  
“Are you saying you’re better?” Gwaine scowled, stepping on the gas. If he kept this up, they’d be done for speeding.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“As far as I understood from Arthur, you’re his charity project. And he’s wasting his precious time on you, though you’re not in a hurry to thank him.”  
  
Merlin was getting angry again. If he was such a burden, why not leave him alone? For all of their sakes.  
  
Gwaine realised he said too much. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said, slowing down. The visibility on the road dropped; speeding up could be risky.  “It’s just... you two are too much alike.”  
  
“That’s fine.” Merlin waived his hand. “So, tell me what Arthur’s conjured up.”  
  
“Nothing major.” Gwaine turned up the volume of the radio and started bobbing his head in time with the music. “You’ll be my assistant for a day.”  
  
Merlin arched his eyebrows. He had no idea what Gwaine even did for a living. “And what am I expected to do?”  
  
“You’ll keep me company. Right now we are going to my house, we’ll change outfits and visit a really hot bird I know.”  
  
Merlin almost blurted out, “I’m not going to fuck her!” but managed to bite his tongue in time. It was hard to imagine a legitimate job doing what Gwaine just listed. Arthur would never keep someone on a payroll just for their pretty face.  
  
In the meanwhile, Gwaine was really enjoying the song: singing along, occasionally closing his eyes, and was practically dancing behind the wheel.  
  
Trouble—and Merlin was deep in it because of his law abiding father and overly-prudent Gaius.  
  
Gwaine’s apartment was a true representation of its owner, from what Merlin already figured out about him. Someone sophisticated could call this place eclectic, someone less snobby—chaotic and messy. Oriental rugs with thick fur next to steel and plastic, walls covered with traditionally ascetic Mayan and lush Venetian masks, bookshelves full of modern glossy magazines mixed together with large tomes of old classics, which you could tell were decades old. Gwaine walked straight to his bedroom, gesturing for Merlin to follow him—and there he saw a huge bed of truly royal proportions, covered with a plush plaid quilt, and with the corner of a deep-red bed sheet sticking from underneath.  
  
Certainly tacky, the place fascinated Merlin anyway—it was weird, but undeniably comfortable and well-loved by its owner.  
  
“Take your clothes off,” Gwaine said, pulling off his lemon-coloured shirt, which he had on when picking up Merlin.  
  
“Um.” Exasperated Merlin was at loss for words.  
  
“You’ll need to put your suit on,” Gwaine explained, diving into his closet and extracting a jacket out of there. “Me, too, unfortunately.”  
  
Somewhat calmed down, Merlin grabbed the hem of his hoodie and hiked it up. Looking around, he discovered that Gwaine already placed his suit on the bed.  
  
“If I didn’t know where you live, I’d think you’re a hobo.” Gwaine whistled, checking Merlin out unabashedly.  
  
“I have excellent metabolism.” He chuckled, battling with the dress shirt.  
  
“I believe you. Also, birds love lads like you. I could never play a poor, martyr bloke, I’m too obvious. You could convince whomever you want in the blink of an eye that you have a tender soul of a struggling artist.”  
  
Merlin couldn’t hold it anymore—he started laughing, and as a result, he messed up his shoelaces while tying them up.  
  
“Did Arthur try to jump your bones?” Gwaine asked, sliding into obviously custom-tailored trousers.  
  
“Arthur?” Merlin walked to the mirror and fixed the lapel.  
  
“I’m trying to understand why he’s so hung up on you.” Gwaine strengthened his tie. “Whatever, fuck Arthur. We need to hurry up or we’ll be late.”  
  
Merlin thanked his stars for helping him to avoid this awkward conversation and rushed after Gwaine already walking downstairs.  
  
At the halfway point, Gwaine relaxed somewhat and seemed himself again. He jabbered on, sharing with Merlin gossip about people he had never heard of, cursed the passing drivers, belted out songs, and took a few calls. This feverish pace Gwaine seemed to live at inadvertently affected Merlin. He’d probably pass out if he had to live like this every day, but for now he loved the company.  
  
They parked by the old building, which Merlin recognised belonged to one of the most prominent banks in England. His father had several accounts there and always praised their service and reliable security. What were they doing here?  
  
Gwaine confidently closed the door of the car and strutted towards the entrance. The doorman smiled warmly and let them in. Merlin looked around, noting the number of security cameras, the even sound of working monitors, the unhurried pace of the people, and leaned in to Gwaine. “It’s time to let me know what’s going on, don’t you think?”  
  
“It is,” Gwaine agreed, moving through the hall to the room at the back. “You’re my assistant, personal coffee-maker, we are here to give a quick visit to a very pleasant lady and talk to her about an account belonging to one of the Pendragons’ companies. Your task is to keep your mouth shut and act inconspicuously.”  
  
They reached the destination before Merlin could ask another question. A girl in a fitted bank uniform brought them to an ascetic-looking office and walked out, leaving the visitors one on one with Morgana LeFay—Merlin managed to read her name on the door plate.  
  
“My fair lady!” Gwaine melted into a wide grin, kissing Ms LeFay’s hand. “You get more beautiful every day.”  
  
“And you don’t get tired of useless flattery, I see.” She smirked.  
  
Merlin was uncomfortable; these two clearly had known each other for a long time and very well, and he felt out of place. In addition, Morgana intimidated Merlin. He tried to avoid women like her—too dramatic and lively, confident in their own skin to the point of being stuck-up. Morgana belonged to the category of “if looks could kill” and also, judging by how she conducted herself, had brains. A successful business-woman, and most likely from a respectable family.  
  
“This is Merlin,” Gwaine introduced him, “my assistant.”  
  
“Arthur recognized a mentoring talent in you?” Morgana drawled teasingly, rolling a weapon-sharp pencil in her well-manicured fingers.  
  
“I can’t believe it myself.” Gwaine leaned  back in his chair and accepted a glass of water offered by Morgana’s assistant, who had walked-in.  
  
Morgana turned to Merlin and gave him an unexpectedly warm smile.  
  
“I hope my brother and this rascal won’t eat you alive,” she said softly, squeezing Merlin’s hand.  
  
“I knocked on wood when they hired me,” Merlin played along, still puzzled.  
  
A brother? It was getting more and more interesting.  
  
“Did you get my email?” Gwaine took another sip from his glass of water.  
  
“I did.” Morgana shifted her eyes to the monitor and started tapping on the keyboard. “Let me open it so we can discuss it.”  
  
Merlin was was on the verge of becoming bored when he noticed Gwaine pulling his phone from the pocket.  
  
“I forgot to mute it,” he apologised to Morgana and pressed a few buttons.  
  
The phone was returned to the pocket, but Merlin couldn’t let it go. He knew that the phone was switched to silent mode back in the car, which meant Gwaine had lied.  
  
Morgana didn’t look concerned. She found the folder she needed and printed a few documents.  
  
“The financial data,” she clarified, handing the printouts to Gwaine. “I’m not sure why my father is so interested in it. The numbers are practically the same compared to the last quarter.”  
  
“Not our place to question.” Gwaine got up and walked around the table, stopping behind Morgana’s shoulder. He placed his hand on the table, grazing the corner of the screen in passing. “Wait, look at this charge. I don’t think I recognise it.”  
  
Morgana frowned and leaned closer to the document, studying it. As if in deep thought, Gwaine dug out his phone for a moment and pocketed it again.  
  
“You’re not paying attention!” Morgana exclaimed and set off on a explanation about the charge.  
  
Gwaine easily agreed to everything she said, took the documents and, after persuading her to have dinner with him, said his good-byes.  
  
Merlin’s suspicions grew stronger with every minute. He barely waited for them to leave the bank’s premises before he yanked his tie off and glared at Gwaine.  
  
“What do you have built into your phone?” he asked, thinking the worst.  
  
Gwaine slid into his seat, settled into a more comfortable position, and threw the papers in the direction of the backseat.  
  
“My phone, which of course isn’t exactly a phone, has a special program. It establishes a wireless connection with the nearby computer and runs a script, allowing it to copy files from a specific folder.”  
  
“You stole confidential information?”  
  
“Yes.” Gwaine took the phone, nay—a hacking device, and scrolled through the data he just pulled. “Worked like a charm.”  
  
“When they ask me in court how I got into this,” Merlin said slowly, trying to recover from the initial shock, “I’ll just tell them I was too busy snorting crack to notice. Think that would move them to tears?”  
  
Gwaine tossed his head back and laughed.  
  
“Relax, lad, no one’s going to know. First off, Morgana is the step-sister of our big boss Arthur, so I would never hurt her. Also, when I decide to settle down, I plan to show up at her doorstep with flowers and an engagement ring. It won’t bode well for my plan if she’s in prison. Second, no one is going to use the data I pulled today directly. I was just checking the cash flow of one company... Arthur’s father is about to sign a contract with them. And according to the document we just saw, they had recently received a payment from another company, a fake. There’s a great chance that the fake company belongs to Uther’s rival. That means the rival company is pulling Uther’s leg in hopes earning a better deal for themselves. And Arthur needs to have better cards in his hands.”  
  
Merlin developed a headache even before Gwaine had started his speech, but he caught the essence of it. “If Morgana is Uther’s daughter, why wouldn’t she share this information with her father herself?”  
  
“Because she has no access to that particular folder—that’s one. She’s one of those who always plays by the rules—that’s two. And she’s currently not on speaking terms with her father—that’s three. Otherwise, her cute little bum wouldn’t be at this bank, she’d work with Uther,” Gwaine explained. “While the royal Pendragons bicker, we, plebs keep an eye on their wealth.”  
  
“Sounds honorable of you.” Merlin chuckled, feeling more at ease. Maybe he wouldn’t be arrested after all.  
  
“I’m a true knight,” Gwaine admitted proudly. “Sorry, I have to report to Arthur.”  
  
The call didn’t take long. Gwaine disconnected, and turned on the engine. “Now Arthur can move freely.”  
  
“Too late to move,” Merlin reminded sarcastically, “they’ve already been paid off with a bribe.”  
  
“I’ll tell you when those tossers change their mind,” Gwaine said in a tone full of condescension. “And they will change their mind.”  
  
“Is Arthur _that_ good?” Merlin enjoyed the back and forth with Gwaine. What felt like a war with Arthur seemed like a game with Gwaine.  
  
“Oh, you’ll see.” Gwaine patted the pocket with the device. “Information is the deadliest weapon. Didn’t Arthur get you on the hook with the help of my research?”  
  
Merlin preferred to change the topic; the last thing he wanted was discuss his personal life with Gwaine.  
  
“And you’re the fearless one—sleeping with Morgana?”  
  
“Why refuse something coming... ahem... right into your hands?” Gwaine shrugged.  
  
“I can sense Arthur’s influence,” Merlin muttered under his breath, not exactly sure how he felt about all this.  
  
“What?” Gwaine asked.  
  
“Nothing,” Merlin said and pretended to be busy listening to the music coming from the speakers.  
  
The rest of the day was no less bizarre. Gwaine changed his stylish fancy shoes to trainers, and the suit to dark khakis and a button-down. He could be anyone dressed like that. An insurance broker, а library clerk, a teacher—a small fry. Merlin was given back his jeans and hoodie; a cap with “Manchester United” was pulled over his head, and he was transported to the shopping centre. They spent at least an hour and a half killing time, until Merlin realised that their movements had a pattern. The kept bumping into the same guy, who looked so average you wouldn’t remember him unless you really tried.  
  
After holding his tongue for a long time, Merlin blurted out, “Who’s this?”  
  
“Perceptive, aren’t you?” Gwaine smiled, quickly and naturally changing his current appearance: freed his hair out of the pony-tail, pulled on thick-framed glasses and slightly pinched his shoulders together. “Give this to me.”  
  
Merlin obediently twisted himself out of his hoodie, staying in a thin red t-shirt, and rolled his eyes without commenting when Gwaine tied a blue scarf around his neck.  
  
“This bloke’s sleeping with the wife of another bloke, who Arthur’s very interested in.”  
  
“And what will all this help to achieve?”  
  
“You’re yet to learn the power of moneybags’ wives,” Gwaine assured him and continued with his strange scheming.  
  
Over time, Merlin started to like it. He felt like a super hero from a movie and all that was missing was the heavy weight of a gun tucked in the back of his jeans. A few times he tried to mimic the cool guys from thrillers—looked around suspiciously, just like them, trying to assess the locations of the cameras and guards, moved quietly and stealthily—in his imaginary world. In reality he practically crushed Gwaine’s foot, and if Gwaine noticed Merlin’s weird behavior he didn’t say a word.  
  
Merlin, on the other hand, was dying for a conversation. With Arthur.  
  
During their quick lunch, which Merlin and Gwaine spent on a bench in the park, Arthur sent him a short text, “Still bored?”  
  
Merlin swallowed the rest of his sandwich like a python and called him back. The automated service politely informed him that the subscriber was not available and offered to leave a message. Merlin tried one more time, then again, all to no avail. Clearly, Arthur was not going to pick up.  
  
 _If he blocked my number._.. Merlin thought hotly, and, having no idea how exactly he’d make Arthur pay, he appealed to Gwaine, “Call Arthur.”  
  
“Christ!” Gwaine stopped on his track and looked at Merlin with feeling. “How did you know I miss my dear boss’s voice something terrible?”  
  
“Oh, sod off!” Merlin lightly hit his shoulder with his fist. “I want to talk to him.”  
  
“Ask him for a date? I can suggest a restaurant and help to choose your outfit, something special for the occasion.” Gwaine suggestively wiggled his brows.  
  
Merlin crossed his arms on his chest and stared at him with a frown, hoping Gwaine would read it as silent disapproval.  
  
“Okay, okay, no crude jokes—in the next half an hour.” Gwaine gave up, getting his phone out of his pocket. Arthur’s number was probably on speed-dial, considering how fast he handed the phone to Merlin. “Go ahead, coo.”  
  
“What?” Arthur asked instead of a greeting.  
  
“I’m in big trouble because of you.” Merlin did his best to make his voice sound unhappy. “It’s _illegal_.”  
  
“Look who’s talking,” Arthur responded lightheartedly. “Everything’s within the law. At least you’re having fun. Now, sod off, I’m busy.”  
  
Merlin returned the phone and fixed the cap on his head. His mouth stretched into a wide smile of its own volition and his mood kept improving with every minute.  
  
“So, are you ready for some more?” Gwaine jerked his head in invitation and dragged Merlin with him.

 

The day turned out to be so intense, Merlin didn’t notice how the long shadows grew into twilight. The streetlights were turned on and the beams of oncoming cars kept blinding dead-tired Merlin. Exhausted, he collapsed into the passenger seat, buckled up and dosed off. He was awakened by the feeling of the car slowing down. Gwaine parked carefully, and Merlin, opened his eyes and moaned. He had no clue where he was.  
  
“Another adventure? I can’t anymore!”  
  
“Relax, this is the last one.”  
  
Merlin crawled out and hugged himself, shivering. After the warmth of the car, the evening breeze was chilling him to the bone. He wanted to climb into his bed with a cup of hot tea and lurk on Facebook.  
  
Gwaine led him inside of a building, and Merlin realized in a somewhat delayed reaction that it was just an apartment building. Well maybe not _just_ an apartment building: a place here would cost an arm and a leg. So, he wasn’t surprised when he was greeted by Arthur at the door.  
  
“Do come in.” He waved to Gwaine, barely skating his gaze over Merlin, who boldly walked in after Gwaine, crossed the first room to an empty chair and flopped down, prostrate.  
  
“Help yourself to my liquor cabinet,” Arthur said dismissively, leading Gwaine into the apartment. Any other day, Merlin would demand to know where they were going and why, but this time he just curled up in the chair, tucked his legs and closed his eyes. He wasn’t against Arthur’s offer to have something to drink, but just the thought of getting up and _doing something_ was tiring. Laying down without moving a muscle—what could be better than that? He slipped into a pleasant unconsciousness; even Gwaine’s farewell “Bye!” couldn’t make him react. Merlin heaved a deep sigh, noting somewhere in the back of his mind the sounds near him, and startled when Arthur touched his shoulder.  
  
“Hey,” he called, “drink this.”  
  
Merlin unglued his eyes and accepted the glass on autopilot. Whisky with ice, no water. Exactly what he needed. He took one large pull of the drink, swallowing, breathed through it and stretched out languidly. The much-needed warmth spread through him, washing away his tiredness.  
  
“What were you doing just now?”  
  
“Went over the results of your hard work today,” Arthur said, sounding way too formal.  
  
Merlin glanced at him through the corner of his eye and shook his head. Arthur’s current appearance didn’t match his tone. The top button of his shirt was undone, his tie hung loose, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  
  
“Was it to your satisfaction?”  
  
Merlin felt good. He nestled in his space, he was warm, and Arthur all of a sudden seemed very nice. Merlin took another sip from his glass and barely stopped himself from catching Arthur by his tie.  
  
“Not a bad job,” Arthur admitted. “Morgana liked you. She called me this afternoon and asked where you came from.”  
  
“She asked that?”  
  
“To be precise, she asked if I’ve hired you because I’m sleeping with you, or because I finally came to my senses and started hiring pleasant blokes, instead of blithering idiots like me.”  
  
“I thought that she and Gwaine...”  
  
“Gwaine is not perfect, but Morgana tolerates him.” Arthur shrugged. “I called you a cab.”  
  
“Hmmmm.” Merlin remembered Gwaine’s words from earlier and said firmly. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”  
  
Arthur almost choked but didn’t say anything to him, answering the phone instead.  
  
“It’s waiting downstairs.”  
  
“All right.” Merlin left his warm spot with regret, leaving his empty glass on the armchair. “What now? You’ll keep sending me to Gwaine when I’m bored?”  
  
Arthur froze at the door.  
  
“Until you resolve your problem... why not? Looks like you got along.”  
  
What problem? Merlin didn’t understand. He lingered by Arthur, although there wasn’t a reason for it. To get downstairs and drive away—that would be a smart choice.  
  
“With Will,” Arthur said after a pause. Merlin had a strong feeling he wanted to say something different.  
  
“Ahhhh,” he drawled. “That. Will.”  
  
“Precisely.” Arthur casually shook his wrist, letting his watch slide down. “That’s all. Go. Time’s up.”  
  
Merlin waved in response and called the lift. And only when he was near his house he realised: in the past twenty-four hours he hadn’t thought about getting high even once.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Arthur scratched the bridge of his nose, the bright-red mark from his glasses itching, and took a long, indulgent sip straight from a bottle. The day turned out to be rough, and, if he wanted to have any energy for work tomorrow, he had to find a way to relax. Just like this -- with a couple of beers and a horror film. In which, at this particular moment, a saw was busy cutting off a leg, red splashes flying all over the screen, and Arthur was incredibly comfortable right now.

The content feeling was killed by a buzzing phone. Arthur felt for it around, and, after typing in the password, stared at the screen.  
  
Seriously, he’d cut Gwaine’s bonus this month. Why did he give in to Merlin’s begging and shared Arthur’s mobile number?  
  
_I’m waiting to meet with you-know-who right now. I can sneak into his office._  
  
Arthur heaved a heavy sigh. No, he was definitely going to wring Gwaine’s neck for planting that superagent rubbish in Merlin’s head.  
  
He started typing a reply:

 _Ease up on the champagne and quit playing Bond._  
  
“‘M not drunk!” Merlin yelled into the phone when Arthur picked it up after ignoring the first four calls.  
  
“I can absolutely hear that,” Arthur said, watching the guts of another victim on the screen falling out in even loops.  
  
“You think I’m useless without Gwaine?” Merlin demanded and added, slightly slurring the words, “‘M veeeery independent.”  
  
“Merlin, even if you puke all over Edwin’s office, it won’t change the result of the deal he made on the side," Arthur reminded him. “He’s my problem to deal with, so please be a good lad, stay out of it. Or better, splash some cold water on your face and call a cab.”  
  
The last thing he needed was Merlin hunting for the information using a personal invitation into Myrddin’s house. It was doubtful that Balinor would appreciate it if Arthur switched Merlin from drugs to industrial espionage.  
  
“I w-won’t ‘elp y-you then,” Merlin announced angrily and hung up.  
  
Arthur put away his bеer and dialed George. After giving his assistant specific instructions, he turned off the phone and went back to watch the film. He’d deal with Merlin’s outrage tomorrow; for now—rest and nothing else.  
  
Unfortunately, Arthur couldn’t turn off his own brain, and soon enough he grudgingly realised that he was thinking about Merlin. His “charity project”, as Gwaine labeled it, was  becoming less and less like charity. Arthur was used to be paid for his work, and wouldn’t turn down a reward this time. It wasn’t about money; he had enough of that already. But with each passing day, Arthur wanted to succeed more and more—to pull Merlin out of the deep shite he got himself into. And somewhere on the edge of his mind flashed glimpses of an unarticulated plan about what else he’d like to do with Merlin when he stopped acting like a dolt.  
  
“Quit it,” Arthur told himself out loud before his imagination took him somewhere dangerous. Was he really thinking about taking Emrys to bed? Of course not.  
  
The blame was his sodding personal life. When was Vivian going to find the guts to leave him? Arthur couldn’t wait for that happy moment but wasn’t in a hurry to do it himself. His girlfriend deserved her reputation as a wretched bitch, and he’d preferred she left him on her terms instead of finding herself being dumped. Arthur finished his beer in one gulp and scooped a handful of nuts. Tomorrow he’d have to sweat it out, but tonight he could allow himself this small indulgence.  
  
A new text arrived exactly when he was on the treadmill. After a good-night sleep and feeling restful, he was finishing his workout when the phone blinked with, “He replied!!!”  
  
Not lowering his pace, Arthur pressed “talk”.  
  
“Who?” he huffed out, trying to save his breath.  
  
“Will!” Merlin sounded deeply unhappy. “I got drunk yesterday—”  
  
“I remember.”  
  
Merling paused disapprovingly and said, “I got drunk yesterday and when I came home, I wrote Will an email. Like you suggested, that I wanted to see him and talk...”  
  
“And?”  
  
“And he replied! He is in Paris, in school, and, if I go there, he wouldn’t mind meeting me.” Merlin moaned loudly.  
  
“Do it,” Arthur suggested, decreasing the incline and the speed of his pace. He had about five more minutes to go.  
  
“What are you doing there?” Merling asked with suspicion. “Arthur, shite, are you fucking someone over there?”  
  
“I’m running over here, you lazy git.” Arthur scoffed, picturing Merlin’s outrage in vivid colors. “Okay, time’s up. I’ll contact you later.”  
  
This short conversation restored all the energy he just lost running.  
  
Leaving the gym, Arthur was smiling from ear to ear; everything was finally falling into place. In France, Gwaine would finish a little assignment, while Merlin would clean up his shite and stop calling him day and night. Win-win all around, just like always when Arthur put his mind into it.  
  
And if he was deluding himself—it was only a tiny little bit.

 

 

Merlin clutched the arms of the seat and began a prayer. It was very short, made up by Merlin himself, “deargodletuslandinonepiece!” He had been afraid of planes since he was a kid. Even of the most reliable ones. Titanic was considered unsinkable, too. At least it was cruising on the waters, and not using its metal wings to cut through the clouds. Probably, the root of his fear was there. Merlin wouldn’t mind riding something alive. For example, as a kid, he dreamed of flying the dragons in the tales his father told him. And he could certainly survive without pretty stewardesses and plastic cups with Coke.  
  
“If you want to keep a memento from this flight, better we steal a blanket,” Gwaine offered, pointedly crossing his eyes at Merlin’s white knuckles.  
  
“How long?” he asked.  
  
“About forty more minutes.” Gwaine checked his watch. “Want something to drink?”  
  
Merlin dismally shook his head. He knew one remedy to help to clear his anxiety, but he couldn’t use it. Sodding Arthur. As if it wasn’t enough that Merlin was antsy about meeting his old friend, now he had to endure this. Where were the old times when they could just board a ship and sail? Comfortable cabin, pleasant company, entertainment, drinks, dancing. And no turbulence in the air.  
  
“Do you already know what you’re going to tell him?” Gwaine aimlessly flipped the pages of the magazine he bought at Heathrow.  
  
“Maybe I won’t tell him anything,” Merlin muttered. Since the moment Will responded to his email and they agreed to meet in Paris, Merlin managed to picture at least a dozen scenarios of how it was going to happen. And every last one was making his bad mood even more sour. When he started picturing a hook from the right, Merlin made himself stop—or Arthur did, sick of hearing his grave predictions. Arthur advised him to act according to the situation and if Will decided to sucker-punch him, he just needed to reciprocate—nothing to worry about.  
  
In Arthur’s world everything was nothing to worry about.  
  
“By the way, I’m going with you,” Gwaine said, folding a paper plane from the financial sheet he just finished studying.  
  
“To meet Will?” Merlin was genuinely surprised.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Did Arthur order you to do it?” Merlin was torn: he was glad he wasn’t going to go alone, but he wasn’t a child incapable of figuring things out on his own.  
  
“Arthur ordered me to do something entirely different. And would skin me alive if I failed.” Gwaine skilfully sent the paper plane down the aisle. “I’d like to look at that bloke. And I can’t leave my friend in trouble.”  
  
“Obviously.” Merlin snorted. “You are our true knight in shining armour.”  
  
“Honor and glory for me!” Gwaine proclaimed and smiled disarmingly at the frowning stewardess. She picked up the plane and walked up to them.  
  
“I believe this is yours, sir?” she asked with a slight French accent.  
  
Merlin rolled his eyes and turned to the window. Gwaine immediately dove into flirting, and for some reason it soothed Merlin’s nerves. Of course they hadn’t become best the best of friends in just  a couple of weeks, but good pals—definitely. Merlin still didn’t quite believe that Gwaine’s idea to go with him was entirely his, he wasn’t that naive. Still... Merlin didn’t mind. Gwaine wouldn’t make it worse.  
  
Landing didn’t go without a hitch: the pilot circled over the city for the longest time until he received approval to land. Merlin could hardly wait to feel a solid ground under his feet, and as soon as he did, he immediately started dragging Gwaine out of the airport. Gwaine barely managed to hand his business card to the stewardess and walked after him without much enthusiasm.    
  
But then, Gwaine wasn’t one to sulk forever. Not even five minutes later, his mood did a one-eighty, he charmed the elderly cab driver and began cheerfully fishing out all the local gossip from the monsieur. And that’s when Merlin discovered that his companion was kicking arse in French. Not in that formal, impeccable language taught at school. Gwaine was dropping spicy phrases using Parisian slang, and Merlin had trouble keeping up. For some reason, it made Merlin mad. Arthur spent his days doing what he loved, Gwaine didn’t suffer from a lack of self-fulfillment, either, while Merlin had to be a coward and do what he enjoyed in secret. What would they do if _they_ were him?  
  
“... sourpuss,” came from somewhere close.  
  
Merlin flinched, dropped the bottle of water he had clamped between his legs to the floor , and turned to Gwaine. “What?”  
  
“I’m asking if you’re sick.” Gwaine picked up the bottle and handed it back to him. “You’re pale and look like you just sucked on a lemon.”  
  
“No.” Merlin unscrewed the cap and took a sip. “Just not enough sleep.”  
  
But it wasn’t that easy to get rid of Gwaine, and before he knew it, Merlin was pulled into a conversation with the cab driver. Thanks to the driving skills of the man, they made it to the destination without traffic and way early. The cafe where he agreed to meet with Will was empty except for one disheveled bloke in a scarf sloppily wrapped around his neck, engrossed in his iPhone.  
  
“Is that him?” Gwaine asked.  
  
“You haven’t memorised his face?” Merlin ordered himself a coffee and set down at the table.  
  
“I was hoping you’d recognise your friend without my help.” Gwaine didn’t appear offended, crunching on his pastry.  
  
Merlin nodded, but didn’t have a chance to respond. Gwaine’s phone went off and he started quickly talking in French, leaving Merlin to his devices.  
  
They waited for almost an hour, and during that time Merlin managed to wind himself up into a ball of nerves. The greeting bell on the door chimed almost non-stop; the sound kept startling Merlin. Gwaine kept glancing at him in disapproval, but thank God, offered no comments about the situation.  
  
Will came in three cups of coffee (espresso, cappuccino, latte) and two croissants later. He appeared suddenly, although Merlin could swear he kept his eyes on the door all that time.  
  
“Hey, Merlin,” he heard from above.  
  
“Hey.” Merlin quickly raised his head from his crossed arms on the table and offered his hand. The handshake turned out to be long and fierce.  
  
“So, what brought you to Paris?” Will asked, smiling, and sat down on the chair next to him.  
  
“This.” Merlin unceremoniously nodded at Gwaine who was currently arguing with someone over the phone. “We’re kind of friends, and he has business here.”  
  
“And you decided to join him?” Will winked suggestively. “Brilliant. It’s finally gotten warm here; perfect time for clubbing.”  
  
“Uh—” Merlin fumbled for a moment and then chuckled nervously. “It’s not what you think, he’s really just my mate.”  
  
“And I don’t bat for his team, just so you know,” Gwaine suddenly piped into the conversation. With irritation, he threw his phone on the table and pulled a tablet out of his bag. “I’m Gwaine, by the way.”  
  
“Nice to meet you. Will.”  
  
Gwaine quickly nodded and, without looking at Will, cursed under his breath. Most likely due to the weak internet signal in the place.  
  
“Don’t mind him, he’s always like that,” Merlin said.  
  
Will snorted.  
  
Shortly after, Gwaine was ready to leave. After agreeing to meet Merlin at the hotel, he walked out of the cafe and disappeared in the first available cab.  
  
Silence hung around the table. The type of a silence when an aimless conversation was over, but no one was brave enough to start an important one.  
  
“Listen, Merlin—”  
  
“Will—”  
  
They both started to laugh.  
  
“Merlin, you git, why didn’t you call me sooner?” Will jokingly feigned hurt, taking small sips of his black coffee.  
  
“Oi, me?” Merlin said in exasperation. “After everything you said to me? I wanted to kill you.”  
  
“And you told me I was jealous of you, and was only friends with you because you were popular,” Will argued, and Merlin flushed.  
  
“Well—yes. That was—but I wasn’t thinking. I was mad. You understand, I really liked Freya—”  
  
“I do. And—I did envy you,” Will admitted slowly; Merlin stared at him. “What?”  
  
“I don’t believe it.”  
  
“Oh come on, Merlin. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. Loving parents, money, family business, which no one tried to shove down your throat—you wanted it yourself. Everyone loved you, and whenever we got in trouble, I was always the one to be blamed first. Child from a dysfunctional family and whatever. Of course, I was angry.”  
  
“Will, I—” Merlin didn’t know what to say.  
  
“Don’t sweat it, Merlin. Honestly, I did appreciate our friendship. You weren’t a spoiled rich prat and didn’t stop being my friend even when your mum demanded so.”  
  
“After we almost blew up the entire chemical supply at the school lab? That was kind of warranted.” Merlin squinted.  
  
“I think the last straw was when we ruined Sophia’s sister wedding—” Will smiled at the memories, and Merlin couldn’t stop his own grin.  
  
Yes, that was a memorable event. Who knew that the explosives would blow up ahead of time? According to their masterplan, it was supposed to happen after the ceremony of cutting the three-story cake. At that point, the confetti, streamers, and other harmless festive crap should’ve exploded out of the container inside.  
  
Instead, all guests ended up covered in cake, the bride’s dress was ruined, and the whole celebration was saved by some sheer miracle. The miracle came in a form of their classmate, Sophia, who swiftly cut off the ruined hem of her sister’s fancy dress using the kitchen scissors and announced the start of a mind-blowing party.  
  
“I always said Soph should’ve been born a bloke,” Merlin said once he stopped laughing.  
  
“True. Did you know that she now works for a company organising parties for the high society?”  
  
“Are you talking about the one specialising in unique events?”  
  
“Exactly,” Will confirmed. “And by the way, they are organising a birthday party for a few of our students.”  
  
“Let me guess, for spoiled prats.”  
  
“You got it. Want to come?”  
  
“I don’t know, I wasn’t invited... And I barely speak any French.”  
  
“Rubbish. It’s a really diverse crowd, everyone speaks English. Come. It’d be great to catch up.”  
  
“Okay,” Merlin gave in. Will was always a master of persuasion. “Do you mind if I bring a plus one?”  
  
“Gwaine?”  
  
“Yes. He’s a great mate, you’ll see. He just had a bad morning, that’s all.” Merlin gave an empathetic pause. “I’d probably have bad mornings, too, if my boss were Arthur Pendragon.”  
  
“Pendragon?” Will whistled. “Do you mean _the_ Pendragon?”  
  
“That’s what I mean.” Merlin sighed. Will frowned and checked his watch. Merlin nodded in understanding. “Lecture?”  
  
“Sod it.” Will waved it off. “I haven’t seen you for such a long time, Merlin bloody Emrys. Let’s go to my place, you’ll tell me all about your deal with the Pendragons.”  
  
“You’d piss your pants.” Merlin laughed. A ten-tonne rock was finally off his chest.  
  
It was easy with Will, as if there wasn’t three years of cold war between them. As if they were back to the times when the weight of the responsibilities for school and making the right life choices weren’t pressing on their shoulders. Merlin missed this so much!  
  
“Will,” Merlin called after paying the waiter.  
  
Will dragged his eyes from the buttons on his coat. Merlin stood in the middle of the cafe, his hair wild and cheeks red from laughing. He wanted to say something.  
  
“I missed you, too, you daft prick,” Will answered his unspoken words and, not able to resist, punched him in the shoulder.  
  
Merlin roared with laughter. Yes, Arthur was right. Paris was going to be a loads of fun.

 

 

Merlin wasn’t surprised when a cab drove them from Heathrow straight to Arthur. Still hungover after the previous night, he produced a wide yawn and leaned into the door of the car. He was seriously sleep-deprived. The night before was epic. Even Gwaine looked rumpled, although he made fun of their _primary school_ party at first.  
  
No wonder, Sophia was always a firecracker who generated a hundred ideas an hour.  
  
“Did you get shitfaced yesterday?” Arthur asked, disgruntled, as soon as they stepped through the door.  
  
“I’d like to see how _you’d_ look,” Gwaine snapped mildly. Arthur huffed. Gwaine handed him the tablet. “The information is all here. Merlin, as you can see, as well. Now, piss off, I’m going home to pass out. And tomorrow’s my day off,” they heard from the stairs.  
  
“Until three in the afternoon,” Arthur responded loudly, but Merlin could bet Gwaine didn’t hear him. Or decided not to.  
  
“Why are you standing there? Come in already.” Arthur yawned.  
  
Probably, he should’ve gone home. Slide under the blanket and not crawl out of his room for at least a couple of days. Picturing the torture of driving home, even if in a cab, Merlin groaned inwardly and couldn’t find any valid reasons to refuse Arthur’s invitation.  
  
This time the living room didn’t look as impeccable. There was an opened bottle of whiskey on the table, and next to it a half-finished box with pizza, empty packets of crisps laid on top of the plastic bag. A bunch of pillows, several TV remotes, two phones, a notebook and a blanket were thrown in a pile on a wide couch.  
  
“Too bad Gwaine didn’t stay. He’d see you weren’t exactly abstaining last night,” Merlin teased him, climbing into a huge chair and tucking his feet under him. Bliss.  
  
“Go on, tell me how it went,” Arthur said, ignoring Merlin’s last remark.  
  
“It was brilliant. Seriously, the best.” Merlin stretched, feeling content, glanced at the whisky bottle and grimaced. “Do you have anything else?”  
  
“See the bar?”  
  
Merlin nodded.  
  
“Whatever you find there is yours,” Arthur allowed charitably, splashing half-a-finger of whisky into his glass. “If you want, order another pizza, or anything else you want.”  
  
“Wow, that’s how big boss Arthur Pendragon celebrates his evenings alone,” Merlin drawled and ducked away from a cushion that was thrown at him. “Well, where do I start?”  
  
The story didn’t turn out to be long, but was very emotional. Gesticulating wildly, Merlin described Will’s reactions, and later, laughing hysterically, talked in detail about the last night’s party. The most important news was—Will invited Merlin to his birthday party, which he was going to celebrate both in Paris and in London.  
  
“So, everything is just brilliant,” Merlin summed up. “Fuck me if I know why I didn’t call him before.”  
  
“Because you were a blithering tweaker, too hung up on his own megalomania and hurt?” Arthur offered.  
  
“Very funny.” Merlin stuck out his tongue and poured himself more wine. “And now, according to you, I’m smart and clean?”  
  
“Doubtful about smart—” Arthur smirked at Merlin’s frowning face. “Okay, okay, I’m joking. Fine, looks like we solved a problem with your mate. Cheers to me.” Arthur’s eyes fluttered closed as he relaxed. He startled, grimacing, when his phone started ringing. Without looking at the screen, he sent the call to the voice-mail and checked the bottom of his glass with longing. “How about your love life?”  
  
“What about my love life?” Merlin immediately went on alert.  
  
“I’m asking about its nonexistence.”  
  
“I am perfectly fine,” Merlin said and put the glass back on the table. “You know what, I have to go.”  
  
“There we go again.” Arthur rolled his eyes in annoyance. “I thought we were past this.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking ab—” Merlin shut up, turning grim. “It wasn’t in our agreement to dissect my private life. You’ve already done enough digging into the depths of my short, young existence.”  
  
“And as you probably have noticed, done it pretty well, don’t you think?” Arthur smiled innocently, arching his eyebrows a little.  
  
“No matter. I’d probably have called Will myself, sooner or later,” Merlin lied, not convincing anyone.  
  
“For never was a story of more woe: your lying face is being your worst foe.” Arthur declared solemnly.  
  
“William Shakespeare is a lowly peasant compared to your almighty talents,” Merlin mocked—and broke off under a long, piercing stare of Arthur’s blue eyes. “What?”  
  
“When are you going to drop the act? Just pretend we are simply talking,” Arthur suggested in a tired voice.  
  
“ _Talking_? Constantly pulling information out of me—that’s what it is!”  
  
“Ask me any question. I’ll answer.”  
  
Merlin startled for a moment. But it didn’t look like Arthur was joking. Well, that was fair. It shouldn’t be Merlin taking the rap all the time and sharing his deepest secrets.  
  
“What’s going on between you and Vivian?” he asked quickly.  
  
Arthur smirked knowingly. “I wish I knew. Although, we are having a unique opportunity to find out right here and now.” Still smirking, Arthur pulled out his phone as it began ringing again and turned to let Merlin see the screen.  
  
The display showed the picture of a pretty blonde, who’d been Arthur’s girlfriend for the past two and a half years. At least according to the tabloids. Not that Merlin read them, but he had to know everything possible about his enemy (at the moment all their encounters had been ending in moral abasement of Merlin, so it was hard to call Arthur his friend.)  
  
“Hello, Viv.”  
  
There was silence. Possibly because Vivian charged on a tirade without any further delay. Arthur rubbed his forehead, listening to the hysterical screaming coming through the receiver but wasn’t interrupting her. Merlin sat quietly, holding his breath. Wow! Too bad he wasn’t a reporter. Looked like the perfect couple Arthur and Vivian, who were considered one of the most beautiful couples out there, wasn’t that perfect after all.  
  
“Yes. No. No. I’m tired.” Arthur’s voice sounded monotonous and impersonal. He never spoke to Merlin that way—mechanically, like a robot. “Yes, I deliberately wasn’t picking up. I’m tired, I told you. Yes, of you, as well. Didn’t we decide this already yesterday? I’ll send all your things with the courier; it’s no bother at all. Yes, it would be very nice of you to please accept this farewell present from me. Brilliant. I wish you the very best. You, too. Of course.”  
  
“And? That’s it?” Merlin cautiously broke the silence, heavy in the air after an emotional call, from  now, apparently, Arthur’s ex-girlfriend.  
  
“As you can see.” Arthur dropped the phone on the floor next to the sofa and reached for the bottle. “Let’s celebrate my newly found freedom!”  
  
“But why? I thought you were going to marry.” Merlin obediently clinked his glass with Arthur’s.  
  
“A year ago we were. Six month ago I started realising that this relationship wouldn’t end well. And once again, I was right. Hooray! Ha. Ha. Ha,” Arthur drawled sadly, emptying his glass in two gulps. “This is brilliant. No matter what they say, Vivian has a good taste in whisky. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”  
  
“I’m still confused,” Merlin admitted honestly, and hastily finished his drink when Arthur picked up the bottle to fill it up for him again.  
  
“Ugh. Here it is, since you’re so slow. I spend every day, all day long, on the phone, talk to people, have meetings, often travel for business. I’m like a hamster in a spinning wheel. And the last thing I want when I come home is to hear about shopping or to go clubbing. Don’t get me wrong, I like to get wild and have fun once in a while, but not every bloody day. I want to have a home-cooked meal for dinner, instead of a take out, take a shower, have sex and get a good sleep. And not rush off to another party after barely having a snack, just to show our faces in front of British bohemia. Because I’d end up sleep-deprived, unable to focus during my morning meetings and in the evening I’d still be nagged to death for not having been respectful enough to some Mrs Smith at the party. Is it more clear now?”  
  
“Wow,” Merlin breathed out. “I didn’t expect you to be that honest. I was sure you loved those social events, banquets, and all that.”  
  
“Within reasonable limits. Ideally not beyond charity events or business dinners. Vivian, by the way, couldn’t stand them. What a relief for her—she no longer has to hide a yawn when I talk about stocks or trading options.”  
  
“Then, congratulations on being free from such complicated relationship. It’s for the best for both of you.” Merlin chewed on his bottom lip, looking for the right words. He’d never had a serious relationship. He’d never even lived with someone. He just wasn’t ready to share his life and hobbies with someone else. And, to be honest, no one cared about his passion for biochemistry. “Also, I doubt you’d stay single for long. I’m sure the most beautiful girls will get in line as soon as they learn you’re available again.”  
  
“Possibly.” Arthur shrugged. “My turn. Tell me about your last relationship.”  
  
“Um, do you mean sex, or a relationship for real?”  
  
“Is there a difference for you?” Arthur choked on a laugh and reached out for a piece of cold pizza. “Tell me about both.”  
  
The wine created a pleasant buzz in his head, and the whole atmosphere, despite the earlier unpleasant call, helped to open him up  for more talk. And after such unexpected honesty from Arthur it would be stupid to play evasive. They were both mature people, right?  
  
“Well, if you are not a homophobe—” Merlin narrowed his eyes; Arthur looked at him expectantly. “I sleep with boys and girls, when I feel like it. I have no problem finding someone for, say, a few quick shags. With regard to relationships—there was something like that six months ago. But we broke up since all Alice wanted was money. And I don’t like it when people use me so openly.”  
  
“Naturally. No one likes that. Well, all the pieces of the puzzle are starting to fit into a place. You went on a binge after the breakup.”  
  
“Something like that.” Merling slowly rolled the glass between his fingers. “So, does it mean you’re not bothered that I shag blokes?”  
  
“Why would it bother me?” Arthur was surprised.  
  
“Okay. Then why did you kiss me back? Just please no bullshit about ‘why would I refuse’.”  
  
Arthur laughed, and Merlin huffed in response.  
  
Who could even imagine a month ago that Arthur and he would sit so comfortably together and talk? Talk about their personal life? Could he ever imagine they’d be flirting with each other? Merlin was definitely flirting. Bloody hell, he was flirting like mad and even if he tried to stop—it was too late. Besides, he didn’t want to stop.  
  
“So—why?”  
  
“At first I was surprised, and then I liked it,” Arthur admitted honestly, staring into his eyes. Merlin swallowed hard. His mouth went dry. Looked like Arthur was challenging him again.  
  
“Why don’t we do it again, then?” His words came out in a rasp—drawn out, lazy.  
  
Arthur tilted his head to the side and leaned in a little. It was clearly an invitation. Merlin placed his glass on the table and moved to the sofa. Most likely, he was going to regret this tomorrow; wouldn’t even want to think about it, but for now...  
  
“Come here, Emrys.” Arthur smiled smugly, pulling Merling closer. “Just don’t expect me to give up my arse to you.”  
  
Merlin didn’t get a chance to object.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Time, dormant during winter, began to spin on a fast track. Before Merlin knew it, March and April were over, as well as the first week of May. With all those visits to Arthur, adventures with Gwaine, and also constant contact with Will, he almost forgot about his paper and an essay being due, and about upcoming tests. He was brought back to reality when professor Geoffrey reminded him that Merlin had an assignment due in two weeks. And before Merlin could procrastinate, waiting until the last day, this time he dove into his studies, driven to present the best work among his peers.  
  
Even his father said, “They’re expecting a masterpiece from you.”  
  
They’d always excepted a masterpiece from him, Merlin thought, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. His eyes hurt from reading small font, his fingers were covered with ink, and it felt as if the pile of books in front him would never decrease in size. Merlin was working on three different assignments at the same time, as well as his final paper—last year of uni wasn’t a joke. And once he got his bachelor degree, he was going to apply for a Masters, so he could continue studying on his specialty. Then—PhD, and, if things work out—his own business. For now...

Merlin yawned, so wide he could swallow a whale, and lowered his head onto the textbook. Enough for today. He stopped digesting the information about half an hour ago; even basic formulas weren’t sticking, and in order to not go mad, Merlin decided to go over what he wrote this morning. Or afternoon. Or he’d do it tomorrow. Before or after his therapeutic session with Arthur. Or better, instead of it. Merlin chewed on his bottom lip, assessed his work and reached for the phone.  
  
“What now, my little junkie friend?” Arthur asked fondly on the other end of the phone.  
  
“A rain check.” Merlin yawned again, completely ignoring Arthur’s teasing. His jaw was at risk of dislocation.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Not enough time,” Merlin said earnestly.  
  
Arthur knew about his workload at school, often asked about his progress, but never canceled their meetings. Only reduced them to once a week. His job, as luck would have it, allowed him to allocate time for these therapeutic dates. Every Thursday, three o’clock. And not a minute later.  
  
“That bad?” Arthur asked, and the unhealthy enthusiasm in his voice made Merlin think of wanting to go jump off the cliff.  
  
“Worse. So, maybe we postpone my absolution until next time? Or talk on the phone?”  
  
“Not a chance. Get ready,” Arthur said in a voice leaving no chance for negotiations.  
  
“Why?” Merlin was surprised.  
  
“Let’s go get some fresh air. Take your mind off things.”  
  
“I doubt tomorrow’s hangover would help me to get into the right mood to study.” Merlin chuckled, looking around for his jeans.  
  
“Who said anything about drinking?”  
  
There was no drinking involved. At first they took a slow walk on the streets of London, teasing each other and sharing the latest in their lives, then they spent a long time looking for a free bench in Green Park. The weather this week was warm, and lots people rolled out of bars and pubs to enjoy it. Spilling over the fresh grass, they were spreading their blankets and snacks, throwing improvised picnics. But even though there were a lot of people, it wasn’t loud or chaotic. Everyone tried to not disturb their neighbours. After wandering around for long enough, Arthur abandoned hope, and after finding a more or less private spot, sat right on one of the lawns. Merlin gladly sprawled out next to him..  
  
“July can’t come soon enough.” He sighed, looking at the darkening sky without a single cloud.  
  
“That exhausted?” Arthur asked with sympathy.  
  
“Not exhausted, just don’t have enough time. I’m trying to present as much research as possible. You understand, family name and all.” Merlin smirked.  
  
“Oh, I understand. But you have to admit—you love it. And when you’re done with school and start working, you’ll love what you do, not everyone can brag about that.”  
  
“Well—I guess. But that’s a distant future—work.” Merlin scoffed, his face darkened at once.  
  
He recalled the conversation he had with his father just a few days ago—or, rather, the fifteen-hundredth version of it.  Merlin insisted on working for his father’s company, and was being rejected again.  
  
 _“First earn a degree, then, a job. Your access level at the lab is too high as is already.”_  
  
“Merlin?” Arthur nudged his shoulder. “You okay?”  
  
“Yes, it’s just—never mind.” Merlin ruffled his already messy hair. “And you are, obviously, the lucky one? Your job brings nothing but joy and satisfaction?”  
  
“Indeed.” Arthur nodded, deciding to not ask Merlin any other questions. For now. “Maybe that’s where the meaning of life is—finding the positive in everything you do, and not concentrating on the negative. Getting up every morning not with the thought that you’re going to a bloody prison, but looking forward to it.”  
  
“Dalai Lama can retire now, oh, Master Yoda. He has nothing on your philosophical wisdom.”  
  
“I still have a ways to go, but I certainly appreciate his views on life.” Arthur smiled.  
  
“And you always knew you’d work with your father? Have you ever felt the pressure?” Merlin stared at him quizzically.  
  
“I’m my own boss,” Arthur corrected him. “I did start under my father’s mentorship, but at this point I have my own company, even if thirty percent of our stocks belongs to the _Pendragon Corporation_. You can say Uther Pendragon monitored my business and then made a successful investment.”  
  
“Really? I thought you represent the same company together.”  
  
“I do represent _Pendragon Corporation_ ’s interests, they are our major client. But I have others, so even without my father’s business with us, I wouldn’t go broke.”  
  
“Good for you,” Merlin said slowly, feeling a little jealous. “I hope to find my own niche, too. When I receive my qualifications.”  
  
“I thought you wanted to work in Balinor’s lab,” Arthur prodded carefully. “And he said it many times in his interviews, about already having a worthy successor.”  
  
“Ha. I’m nothing without a degree. You think I started making meth because of my worthiness? It helped me to built a small lab outside of the family business. Where no one could look over my shoulder.” Merlin kept quiet for a bit and then added, barely audible, “But it’s all bullshit, because I need expensive equipment I can’t afford for at least few more years.”  
  
“I think Balinor doesn’t want you failing school. He can see you’re absolutely as mental about the lab as he is.”  
  
“Maybe. That’s no bother. What’s more interesting—”  
  
Merlin stopped talking, tensed. Arthur looked at him, frowning, and then, followed his eyes and saw a couple laying not too far away from them. Two blokes, who were enjoying the falling darkness and warm weather. Arthur smiled and arched his eyebrows.  
  
“What’s wrong, Merlin? Jealous?”  
  
“As if,” Merlin muttered, his shoulders twitched. “It’s time to go. I have to get up early tomorrow. Can you drop me off?”  
  
“You’re so strange, Merlin. Didn’t you tell me you like sleeping with blokes?”  
  
“Spare me your reverse psychology, Pendragon. My brain is about to explode,” Merlin said tiredly.  
  
All the way to the car and while driving to Merlin’s house, they kept silent. Both deep in their own thoughts, they hadn’t noticed how they reached the destination. Merlin didn’t rush to get out, and for the first time ever, Arthur didn’t know how to deal with Merlin. He really, terribly, wanted to clear up one particular issue. And Merlin studied Arthur with his big, blue eyes, as if daring him to do it.  
  
Huffing, Arthur leaned in and kissed his warm, soft lips.  
  
 _Don’t let it go too far._  
  
Fucking work ethic.  
  
Backing away with regret, Arthur grinned and unlocked the doors. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he said playfully with a terrible accent, trying to relieve the tension. “Thank you for the wonderful evening.”  
  
He felt elated. Great, even. Except Merlin didn’t share his mood.  
.  
“Go fuck yourself, Pendragon,” he barked and slammed the door, leaving Arthur staring at his retreating back in astonishment. 

 

Five days later Arthur found a thick folder on his desk. George did a great job. The first set of documents, after review and appropriate comments, was handed to Elyan. Arthur had no doubt in his employee’s abilities: Elyan had his place on his team for a reason. He had a quick and flexible mind, could find a way out of the most difficult situations, and knew how to steer clients in the right direction. And then gently convince them that it wasn’t Elyan offering to make a deal, but the client themselves who wanted it so much, they practically begged Elyan to sign it already. The training was going to turn out great, and Arthur could kill two birds with one stone—coach his team and see Merlin’s reactions. And if Arthur could show off a little in the process... that wouldn’t hurt anyone.  
  
Arthur flipped through the second set of the documents and pulled the phone out of his pocket, refusing to acknowledge the fact that Merlin moved to the first line in his speed-dial list.  
  
“You’re interrupting my lecture,” Merlin hissed into the phone.  
  
“Call me back,” Arthur said and hung up.  
  
Someone knocked on the door to his office.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
George squeezed in through the narrow gap in the opened door and froze ten feet away from his desk.  
  
“My apologies for interrupting you, sir, but Morris said you’d already presented some of the documents to Elyan, and I wanted to know if you were satisfied with my work and if you have any other assignments for me.”  
  
George never ceased to amaze Arthur by his ability to fluidly converse in a horridly rigid way, choosing the least pronounceable phrases, as if he just came off the page of the statistic report. Arthur had often used his gift, sending him to “entertain” the clients. Normally, by the time Arthur showed up, they were so hypnotised by George’s signature phrases, “It will be my pleasure to provide you with the distilled water, enriched with ionic silver” or “the efficiency ratio of our company could be close to 1 if the _probability theory_ accepted the usage of the absolute values” that hearing a normal person’s talk, they were a lot more willing to compromise. But sometimes Arthur himself was tired of his very talented assistant’s special abilities.  
  
“I found the work you completed meeting the requirements adequately,” Arthur played along. “No new assignments at this time. Except... let everyone know that we’re having training on Thursday at three o’clock. It concerns the round table.”  
  
George blossomed at Arthur’s words, nodded and disappeared. Arthur sighed and dove into the reports provided by his assistant.  
  
Merlin called two full hours later.  
  
“I thought we’d see our last days there. Why the hell our professors make us learn off the constants or atomic mass of all periodic elements by heart?” Merin seethed, exhaling loudly, as if he’d just run or walked really fast.  
  
“I suspect there’s a point in all this. And you know it. “Arthur leaned back in his chair and almost started chewing on the cap of his pen. Merlin’s voice was affecting him in a strange way.  
  
“Right, as if I’d have time to check any of that when I’m in a lab, especially when all of it is written on huge posters on the walls exactly for that purpose,” Merlin replied and mumbled something to the side. Probably bumped into one of his classmates.  
  
“Going home?”  
  
“Yes, sir.” The sounds in the background indicated that Merlin was now outside. “What did you want from me? Good thing I had my phone on silent; if I was tossed out, I’d—”  
  
“Enough,” Arthur interrupted his rumblings. “This Thursday we’ll have a different session.”  
  
“Going to invite a hypnotist, and he’d have my body levitate in the air?”  
  
“You wish.” Arthur snorted. “You’ll join us during our employee training.”  
  
“Why?” Merlin went on guard right away. “Going to finally try to use me for your own benefit? Your altruistic tendencies expired rather quickly.”  
  
“I can’t afford it any longer,” Arthur agreed. “Actually I just wanted to show you the ‘meaning of life’.”  
  
Merlin didn’t respond right away. Probably recalled that evening and how it unfortunately it ended.  
  
“What am I supposed to do there? I have no clue about your business.”  
  
“You don’t even have to try too hard, just keep playing the arsehole you are. An arrogant client, who indeed has no idea about our business and does everything to throw a monkey wrench into our process.”  
  
“I’m terribly flattered you’ve assigned this role to me.” By Merlin’s tone it was obvious he was about to get upset.  
  
“I’m going to throw you to a real shark in my business,” Arthur promised. “I dropped you an email with a scenario, consider it roleplay.”  
  
“I have a completely different picture in my head when I think of roleplay.” Crisis averted, Merlin calmed down.  
  
“Feel free to dress like a maid.” Arthur laughed and hung up.  
  
He dropped his phone into his breast pocket, and, folding his hands behind his head, stared out the window. The conversation went without a hitch, Merlin was going to swallow the bait, except... Arthur wanted to keep quarrelling and flirting. He closed his eyes and stretched, hoping that this would help him to clear his head. Alas, when he returned to his desk, Arthur still had a stupid grin on his face and by the evening, he somehow managed to chew the poor cap off his pen.  
  
The last time he chewed on plastic was back in school, when he fell in love for the first time and couldn’t take his eyes off the dark-skinned girl he really liked. 

 

“Are you all clear?” Arthur asked, watching Merlin inhaling a Big Mac.  
  
And where was this mad love for fast food coming from?  
  
Merlin wiped his fingers with a napkin and nodded. “I own a pharmaceutical company and plan on expanding. I’m considering my options of opening a lab either in Italy or France. I have money, but I’d like to stick to a budget and I’m sure your rep is going to dupe me. Did I get it right?”  
  
Arthur smiled. “Perfectly. During the meeting don’t hesitate to be rude. Clients like that consider my people as something like servants, sort of like their waiters, except instead of food we offer real estate in our menu.”  
  
“No problem. Okay, I’m done.” Merlin tossed a couple of squares of gum into his mouth, flicked a few invisible crumbs off the jacket borrowed from Gwaine, and stilled, waiting.  
  
Arthur called Morris, letting him know that he was delivering training and didn’t want to be disturbed. He was very proud of the venue they were about to use. It morphed depending on a purpose and a situation. Today the room seemed big and bright, with an excellent view, comfortable furniture and modest decor. Last time Arthur ordered someone to close the sun-blocking curtains, replace the cushy chairs with cheap and uncomfortable plastic, and hang flowers with an overwhelming smell on the walls. His employees were learning to be professionals regardless of the room’s interior.  
  
The “round table” in the room was already full. That was how Arthur called the team members he valued the most. They often discussed the hardest cases, shared their experience and ideas, and together looked for the most optimal solutions. The circle was limited to Arthur himself, Gwaine, Lancelot—the husband of Arthur’s ex-girlfriend, Elyan—the brother of that same ex-girlfriend, and Leon, who came to work for Arthur per Uther Pendragon’s insistence. Recently, Lancelot brought in Percival, assuring them that the bloke had true talent, and today’s training was also a test for this new member.  
  
“Hello,” Arthur greeted his men at the table. “This is Merlin, today he’ll play the role of a client.”  
  
Merlin smiled and said hello, but Arthur could tell he was not himself and guarded. Of course, this was Arthur’s patch and his people; Merlin couldn’t not feel himself a stranger there.  
  
“Relax,” Arthur whispered, pulling a chair for him.  
  
Everyone had identical black folders with the information laying on the table in front of them, bottles of water and glasses. On the left side of each folder there were blank notepads with the company’s logo and pens with the company’s name. Gwaine insisted that it was time to switch to tablets, but Arthur disagreed. A lot of potential clients were still not comfortable with electronic devices, yet doodling on the notepads was a great tell for Arthur, from their level of interest to their current mood.  
  
“I think it’s time to start.” Arthur opened his folder. “Mr Emrys is a client, Elyan—our rep. I’d like to make sure you all pay attention to their conversation, note what worked and what didn’t, and in general comment on everything you find worthy of a discussion later.”  
  
The training started. Elyan trilled like a nightingale, presenting the potential locations chosen for a lab and following with comparative analysis; Arthur listened and tried not to smile.  
  
“...managing business in Italy is very different from doing so in France. In France you’d have to spend a significant amount of your resources on your legal department, which would have to be responsible for making sure every law is followed. Besides, you’d have to face rigid control from the government—healthcare in France plays a big role in the political arena. But if you follow the processes and procedures you’re guaranteed a patent and the right to distribute the drugs in the country. In Italy it’s drastically different. The system is still driven by a complex web of corruption and bribery. You may pay off a minister who’d turn a blind eye, and your drug can hit the market without any serious scrutiny. Moreover, if the payoff is big enough, the competitor’s drug might suddenly disappear from the pharmacies, which would lead to practically having a monopoly on the market. Do you follow me, Merlin?”  
  
Arthur quickly noted something in his notepad.  
  
“Yes.” Merlin no longer looked like a repressed teenager, the opposite—he now looked very confident. He settled comfortably and followed Elyan’s presentation with great attention. “What would you recommend? France or Italy?”  
  
“It depends on your goal. If you’re interested in long-term business with a smaller, but stable profit, France is your best choice. If you’d like risky, but quick return—Italy.”  
  
“You didn’t mention any risks.” Merlin frowned.  
  
“There’s always a chance that your competitors beat your bribe in price. In that case, your lab may be subject to a sudden audit, and even if you follow every letter of the Italian law, it might get shut down. Or, if they don’t find a good reason (which is not realistic, their laws are vague enough to allow the lawyers free reign), your drug wouldn’t make it to pharmacies. Ampoules would break on the way, pills would be accidentally crushed, and so forth. And on top of that, your proxy might end up in jail for accepting a bribe; it’s pretty common in Italy.”  
  
“And what are the chances of my losing business?”  
  
“I can’t say.” Elyan bit his lip. “There’s no statistical data for situations like this. You’d just have to keep your fingers on pulse and your eye on a situation in the country.”  
  
Arthur made another note.  
  
“I see.” Merlin took a sip from his bottle of water. “Just like I thought. You’re useless.”  
  
Elyan’s face froze in a standard professional smile.  
  
“You keep criticising Italy, yet I heard they have excellent conditions for business. Instead, you’re describing to me something off of a mafia film.” Merlin huffed. “That’s fine, let’s forget about your misconceptions. Can you arrange the said fingers on a pulse?”  
  
“Not me personally.” Elyan adjusted his tie. “But if you decide to open your lab there, we’d find you an Italian firm to help you to monitor the market.”  
  
“And I’d have to pay them, too?” Merlin mouth formed a thin line. “First I drop a hefty sum on you, although you just mumble and provide zero insight, and then I’d have to sponsor some Italian crooks? How would I know they didn’t inflate the amount of bribe? Or maybe you’d already made a deal with the locals, decided to manipulate me into thinking the entire system in Italy is corrupt, and then split the bribe?”  
  
The training was getting more interesting. Arthur thought with pride that he made the right choice with Merlin. He’d gotten into character perfectly.  
  
“We have no reason to lie to you, Mr Emrys,” Elyan said in a soothing voice. “Our company has been in the financial consultation business for a long time, we value our reputation. If you’re unsure about having your business in Italy, let’s take another look at our options in France.”  
  
“Does it mean you suggest I open my business there?” Merlin asked.  
  
“Perhaps, yes,” Elyan agreed.  
  
Another note was made in the notepad.  
  
“And my people will waste their time fighting French bureaucracy instead of creating new drugs? I plan to open a lab, not a lawyer’s office,” Merlin said with irritation.  
  
“You can’t change the rules of the game at your whim; you must follow the particulars of the local market if you’d like to succeed,” Elyan objected. “It would be stupid to think they’d bend over just for you.”  
  
A big, fat exclamation mark took almost half a page.  
  
“ _Stupid to think_? And the advice from a sweaty stinking arse like you is better?” Merlin barked and rose on his feet. “I’ve no desire to have anything to do with your company, and don’t you dare assume I’m going to pay for your so-called consultation today! What a waste of time!”  
  
Arthur started applauding and jumped on his feet.  
  
“That’s enough,” he said and gestured for Merlin to sit down. “Thank you, you did a great job. Elyan, excellent job, as well. I’m very happy. Let’s go over it.” He sat back down, flipped his notepad and gestured for Percival to speak.  
  
“What were Elyan’s mistakes?”  
  
Percival removed his jacket, showing off his perfectly muscled forearms, more suitable for a bodybuilder than for a sly businessman.  
  
“The presentation,” he started. “It’s better to anticipate all of a client’s questions. A client may barely think of what might interest him, and we should already be providing the answers. Also, Elyan got owned on risks, and managed to make Mr Emrys think we were withholding information.”  
  
“Good.” Arthur nodded.  
  
“You shouldn’t answer the client’s questions with ‘I’m not sure’, it doesn’t look professional. Use a generic reply and change the direction of the conversation. Consider that he might be one of those clients who actually prefers ‘the harsh reality’.”  
  
“Excellent,” Elyan praised him.  
  
“The same goes for Mr Emrys’ question about arranging the system of bribery and monitoring in Italy. You shouldn’t have told him we won’t be representing him, a ‘no’ always leads to a negative reaction.” Percival glanced at his notepad. “And, of course, the major mistake was implying that the client is not Einstein. The minute they feel like idiots, you can forget about getting their business.”  
  
“Absolutely correct,” Arthur agreed. “But you missed two more points. First, at the beginning of the conversation Elyan addressed Merlin by his first name. Some like it, but a majority prefer to be more formal. Especially if they’d just been promoted and do everything they can to stress their own worth. And one more: never choose for a client, even if they ask you themselves to do so. Every option has negative sides, and your client would certainly blame their lack of profit on you since we were the ones suggesting it to them.”  
  
“I fell into that trap a couple of times at the beginning,” Elyan confirmed. “What do you think Arthur? I think Percival did well.”  
  
“Four out of six.” Arthur checked his notes. “Lance, you know how to choose your friends.”  
  
Merlin chuckled and blushed when five pairs of eyes stared at him.  
  
“Do you want to say something?” Arthur asked him softly.  
  
“Yes.” Merlin pushed the glass of water away. “Elyan, I apologise for my choice of words.”  
  
“No worries.” Elyan rose up a little and offered his hand to Merlin.” You did great, real nightmare of a client.”  
  
Merlin shook it firmly.  
  
“Mr Pendragon gave me very specific instructions.” He turned to Arthur. “How about some fresh air?”  
  
“Of course.” Arthur got up. “Guys, ten minutes break.”  
  
They both walked into the hall.  
  
“So?”  
  
“Very informative. Going to hire that Percival bloke?”  
  
“Why? You didn’t like him?” Arthur asked, wondering where the worry stirred inside him came from. Why was it so important that Merlin approved the decision he’d pretty much already made?  
  
“I liked him. He’s going to kill it. Looks like a meathead, while in reality he’s sharp. Way to fool your clients.” Merlin laughed.  
  
“I don’t practice that,” Arthur objected and jokingly pushed Merlin to the side. “Will you stay for the second part?”  
  
“Who’s the client this time?”  
  
“Percival. He’ll play a playboy who just inherited a large sum and has no clue what to do with all the money.”  
  
“And this time there won’t be any rookie mistakes?” Merlin stood leaning against the wall and Arthur didn’t register the question right away—he wanted to kiss that smiling mouth terribly.  
  
“What? Ah, no. No mistakes. Let’s go?” His thoughts were a mess; the closeness of Merlin’s body intoxicated him, and he also started to think that he’d figured out another one of Merlin’s issue.  
  
At the very beginning of the training, when Elyan asked Merlin to describe his imaginary company, Merlin got carried away and, with surprising passion and detail, shared what kind of a lab he’d wanted to build. Now Arthur, who had studied Merlin’s dossier scrupulously, was sure that some of the details in George’s documents were missing.  
  
And all of it was leading to very interesting conclusions. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

The last time Merlin was tricked this easily was at school. No teenager could refuse a triple-dare, regardless of the ridiculousness of the challenge. Steal chemical agents from his father’s lab? Go on a trip to next town by foot with ten quid and a bottle of water?  
  
This time Merlin surpassed himself. There was only one plus side to this situation: he stopped obsessing over his grades. Arthur's dragging him out to clear his head helped and happened at just the right time as Merlin was basically done with his studies.  
  
He now could concentrate without any interruptions on this predicament he got himself into.  
  
Merlin didn't really care for the second part of the training until Arthur joined in. Stocks, percentages, investments, business-plans were never something Merlin was into, but Arthur knew how to grab the audience's attention. He spoke of the numbers with the enthusiasm of a child, reciting his favorite poem to his mum. Flipped the pages on the easel, demonstrating charts and tables. Joked, urged, and at the end hypnotised not only Merlin, but even the lot more experienced Percival, who looked like he completely forgot where he was and had already mentally invested all his hypothetical money into this hypothetical project. Merlin himself was ready to join him. The illusion died as soon as Arthur came out of his role.  
  
Merlin waited in silence until “the round table” voted to accept the new member into their brotherhood, and was ready to say goodbye to Arthur when he asked him to stay behind.  
  
“You seem down,” Arthur noted after everyone left.  
  
“Just tired,” Merlin responded flatly. He didn’t feel like figuring out the real reason.  
  
Arthur smiled crookedly. “That’s what I thought. Would you join me?”  
  
Merlin blinked and only then realised that Arthur walked up to a barely visible door in a wall and opened it. The space behind it was dark.  
  
“What’s there? Your imaginarium? Are we going to be Power Rangers?”  
  
“What if I prefer Doctor Evil?” Arthur laughed, letting Merlin in.  
  
“Being bald won’t suit you,” Merlin shot back.  
  
The room definitely didn’t look like an imaginarium. It was rather a small, ordinary living room—a sofa, a table, a mini-bar, a mini-fridge.  
  
“I used to have a buzz-cut.” Arthur collected a few ice-cubes and split them between two glasses. “No one complained.”  
  
“You’re surrounded by extremely polite people.” Merlin climbed onto the sofa, pulled his knees to his chest and accepted the glass without question. Arthur, not to waste time on light stuff, poured them both whisky.  
  
“Gwaine hacked into your email,” Arthur said as a matter-of-factly and tilted his head back, draining his glass.  
  
Merlin froze with his still half-raised to his mouth.  
  
“Find anything interesting?” He very much wanted to throw the drink in Arthur’s smug face, but that would be too childish.  
  
“I don’t care which strips from Pearls Before Swine you consider the coolest.” Arthur added more into his glass. “Why doesn’t Balinor let you work in his lab? I spoke with Gaius. The old man loves you, but I’m sure his personal affections are not why he regards your professional skills so highly.  Gaius claims you’d be welcome in most biotech companies. Even without a degree.”  
  
“I have an early lecture tomorrow.” Merlin placed his drink on the table, but his attempt to get up didn’t work. Arthur pressed down on his shoulder, forcing him stay next to him.  
  
“I still want to help you. You just saw it—I have no self-fulfillment issues. And if I wanted to prove myself at the expense of others, I’d easily find a victim. How about opening your own lab?”  
  
“In France or Italy?” Merlin asked angrily. It was hard to stay collected. Arthur really cut him to the quick by invading his privacy so blatantly, and by the question itself.  
  
“In England. George analysed the market and found a small company for purchase. The owners are nearly bankrupt and ready to sell it at cost. The location is decent, it comes with the equipment, and they are already staffed.  Although, if you don’t like them, you can always hire your own team.”  
  
“I don’t feel like joking right now.” Merlin jerked his shoulder away, and, mimicking Arthur, drank all his whisky.  
  
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Arthur shrugged. “Since a Rubik’s Cube wasn’t very entertaining for you, I decided to offer you a better challenge.”  
  
“Bugger off.” Merlin flopped himself on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. He obviously didn’t take Arthur’s words seriously. After all, he just witnessed how good Arthur was at manipulating his clients. “Going to use your tricks on me?”  
  
“Exactly.” Arthur loosened his tie. “Let me slip an opiate into your coffee.”  
  
“What does an opiate have to do with anything?” Merlin didn’t get it, dubiously glancing at his glass.  
  
“Professional methods during negotiations. Some slip drugs into their clients’ drinks to slow their reflexes. Others do the opposite and add nootropics—or mix them together. Sometimes they cleverly schedule a meeting right after a long flight, this is the most popular one at the moment. Imagine a person after a super early flight, with barely a nap on a plane, and he’s already being dragged into a meeting without being given a chance to catch a break.”  
  
“Dirty tactics.”  
  
“ _Effective_.” Arthur leisurely draped his arm over the back of the sofa, so his fingers almost touched Merlin’s neck. “But I prefer to play without a leg-up. And to eliminate any questions, my offer has nothing to do with charity or practical jokes. I’m going to sign a contract with you and make good money exploiting your brain and time. I’ll provide everything you need for your research, and you’ll pay me back by succeeding—it'll be a beneficial endeavor, financially and personally, for both of us.”  
  
“I have to think about it.” Nothing surprised Merlin any more. “Find out about the company, what they did before, what kind of equipment they have, their licenses, patents. What would be my responsibilities, my time table, and whatever else there's to check.”  
  
“Afraid I’d lie to you?”  
  
“After the training I just saw? Oh no, I’m convinced you’re as innocent as a lamb.” The alcohol created a strong buzz in his head, clouding his usual caution with drunken bravery.  
  
Arthur leaned forward and touched Merlin’s neck. His fingertips slid over Merlin’s skin, ticklish, sending down a slight shiver.  
  
“No, I wouldn’t call myself innocent,” Arthur admitted.  
  
What happened next was so predictable and obvious Merlin didn’t try to stop it. Arthur moved closer and, pressing his palm against Merlin’s knee, lightly touched his lips with his. But he wasn’t cautious for long, forcing Merlin’s mouth open with his tongue.  
  
“How about a little bet?” he whispered, brushing the tip of his nose against Merlin’s jaw.  
  
“What bet?” Merlin breathed out, clutching at soft blond strands. A few seconds later he gave in to the spur of the moment and agreed to Arthur’s ridiculous conditions. 

 

Merlin grimly clicked “send” and bit on his knuckles. It had been two days, and he still wasn’t sure how he managed to agree to a bet that he wouldn’t sleep with Arthur. Of course, Arthur’s proposition wasn’t _that_ direct. But under the veiled, “ _Want to bet you won’t object to doing it with me_?” was exactly that: Arthur implied that if at any point he decided to want Merlin, Merlin would give right the fuck in.  
  
Of course Merlin thought the idea itself was preposterous. And of course, he immediately accepted the challenge, vehemently dismissing Arthur’s claim.  And it obviously had been a mistake. Because Arthur was clearly using his tricks on Merlin. Bastard!  
  
At least this moment of stupidity was evened out by the agreement to work with Arthur and accept the responsibility of rebuilding the small, unknown pharma company. Arthur allowed him to hire a new staff and promised not to tell Balinor until Merlin made progress. Arthur refused to accept the notion that the results might not be positive.  
  
“Why am I always in such deep shite after my sessions with Arthur?” Merlin asked himself and opened the organic chem textbook; the last exam was scheduled for tomorrow morning. The text wasn’t sinking in. Merlin kept re-reading the same paragraph for probably the fifth time, but the thoughts about his new job were distracting him, the weight of responsibilities felt brick-heavy on his shoulders.  
  
What if he couldn’t pull his weight? Couldn’t make it work and cause the whole business to tumble down? How soon would he be able to pay Arthur back? Bloody hell, he didn’t even know what he'd be working on. Not meth, obviously!  
  
Merlin laughed nervously. The sound rang hollow in the silence of the night. Enough. Merlin resolutely put the book aside and went to the bathroom. Brushing his teeth, he grimly studied his reflection. He needed to be done with the exams soon, or he'd be eligible as an extra in _The Walking Dead_. Why not? Imagine Gaius sitting in the classroom when all of a sudden Merlin staggers inside, eyes all mad and red, and goes to bite his favorite professor. And then everyone in his path until some tosser doesn’t shoot him in a head.  
  
His phone pinged, and a shiver ran down Merlin’s spine. That sound meant new email. Could they respond this quickly? He hung up the towel with shaky hands and dashed back into his room. To open his email. Enter the password. And there it was.  
  
 _“Hello,_  
  
 _I'd like to talk to you in person. Tomorrow at six._  
  
 _Morgause Orkney”_  
  
Merlin had no idea who this Morgause Orkney was, but the tone of the email was snippy, on the verge of coming off as rude. And, at six, but where? Logically thinking, probably at the lab Arthur wanted to buy, but again, where was the lab?  
  
His phone pinged again. This time it was Arthur.  
  
 _I’ll pick you up at 17:30. Dress in business attire._  
  
Merlin didn’t even bother to be surprised. Later. All that later, for now, a good-night’s sleep, otherwise he’d definitely fail his last exam.

 

The exam, despite Merlin’s fears, went really well, he always had bad luck getting the most difficult questions. This time they were so easy, a fresher could do it. Diligently filling out five and a half pages with answers, not forgetting to include the key details from additional resources, Merlin placed his paper in front of Gaius. Gaius checked his watch.  
  
“Are you certain you’ve answered all the questions?” Gaius raised his brow, not having any doubt in his student.  
  
“Sure am.” Merlin snorted. “When should we expect results?”  
  
“In two-three weeks, like I said before the exam.” Gaius winked at him, and Merlin beamed.  
  
He knew Gaius would go over the students’ answers tonight. And that Merlin wouldn’t disappoint him.  
  
As he was leaving the auditorium, other students were rolling their eyes. No one had any doubt that Merlin Emrys would finish before anyone else. Many openly wondered why he even showed up for the exam. What a waste of paper. But Merlin thought otherwise. Yes, he was sure Gaius already gave him a high grade overall, but rules were rules and they had to be followed. Which meant—to spend the required time at the uni and check off all the required boxes.  
  
Merlin stood on the stairs outside and squinted at the bright sun. He had time to kill before the meeting this evening. The jitters, temporary forgotten during the exam, were back with a vengeance. Merlin had no clue what the talk was going to be about. He didn’t even have a business-plan. Unlike Arthur, probably. Hopefully. Otherwise they’d have to spend all that time dodging Morgause’s questions. And his gut was telling him that she’d have a lot of questions.  
  
He tried to distract himself and it wasn’t working. The time was crawling. Merlin came home, had lunch, watched TV, argued in a chatroom with some “random_user” about the future of the pharmaceutical industry. Finally, when the minute hand was at quarter after five, Merlin slowly dressed up and went down the stairs. Thank goodness, his parents weren’t home. Otherwise, they’d subject him to an interrogation they were so good at—where, why, when will you be back? They trusted Merlin a little more these days, showing less and less suspicion, but Merlin still couldn’t handle seeing their wary expressions every time he had to go somewhere.  
  
It was his fault.  
  
Arthur arrived at the precise time when the tension in the air could be measured in volts—meaning, at five-thirty sharp. Merlin flopped down onto the passenger’s seat.  
  
“Who’s that?” he asked without delay as soon as Arthur pressed on the gas pedal.  
  
“Morgause? Oh, she’s a real pill.” Arthur chuckled, carefully pulling away from the kerb. “She manages the company.”  
  
“Does _the company_ have a name?”  
  
“It does.”  
  
“Are you going to tell me?” Merlin said, getting irritated.  
  
“I don’t remember,” Arthur replied smoothly. “Something-something corporation.”  
  
Merlin gaped at him, at loss of words.  
  
“What?” Arthur shrugged uncaringly. “I don’t pay things like that any mind. We’ll rename the company anyway and start with a clean slate.”  
  
“If they sell it to you,” Merlin noted carefully. Arthur grinned. “Wha— _already_?”  
  
“Indeed. Signing it over the day after tomorrow.”  
  
A wave of panic washed over Merlin. He turned pale and clutched the safety belt. Arthur looked at him strangely, and Merlin’s thoughts immediately shifted to their little bet. His cheeks reddened traitorously.  
  
“Relax,” Arthur said softly. “It will all work out.” He turned on the radio, effectively stopping Merlin from objecting.

 

“Are you joking?” was the first thing Morgause said as soon as they were seated at the table.  
  
“Uhhhh.” Merlin flushed.  
  
“Morgause, I’m so happy to see you.” Arthur scowled mildly and kissed the woman’s hand. “You’re enchanting, as always.”  
  
“Be serious. Are you going to make this little snot a head of the company?” Morgause disrespectfully poked her finger at Merlin. Merlin fumbled with the knot of his tie. The evening was promising to be splendid.  
  
“That’s right. Meet the future Director of _Blah-Blah Company_ —Merlin Emrys.”  
  
“Even if he were Prince Harry!” Morgause leaned back in her chair. “Are you off your rocker? Does he even have qualifications?”  
  
“No.” Arthur smiled like he had no care in the world and opened the menu, not paying attention to Morgause sitting with her mouth open. “They serve excellent roast beef. I highly recommend it.”  
  
Merlin spaced out. Lost the thread of the conversation and all sense of reality. Arthur and Morgause argued, pored over the numbers, discussing the details of the business-plan and the company’s development strategy. The company, which Merlin himself would have to formally take over. And Merlin was keen to agree with Morgause—he just didn’t have the chops for it. Wouldn’t be able to handle it. How could he if he had no experience whatsoever? He’d be happy to dedicate himself to the research, the experiments, science, but managing business... He was interested in a degree in biochemistry all his life, not an MBA, damn it all.  
  
Basically, the dinner was a painful affair. No one bothered Merlin, thank God, but the disapproving glances from Ms Orkney were humiliating enough. Finishing his dessert, Merlin slowly dabbed his mouth with his napkin, put away his silverware and rose to his feet. Arthur arched his brows in a silent question.  
  
“I have to get ready for my finals. My apologies,” Merlin said as calmly as he could. “It was nice meeting you.”  
  
It was like a bad dream. Moving like a zombie, Merlin stumbled into the waiters several times, trying to leave as fast as possible and forget this whole evening. This whole idea. Why did he even agree to be involved in this scheme?  
  
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Arthur. Probably was worried. Not about Merlin, of course. About his investments, which Merlin ought to uphold.  
  
Wait. Since when did Merlin owe to Arthur anything?  
  
Ignoring the call, Merlin walked to the kerb to hail a cab. The phone vibrated again.  
  
“What do you want?” Merlin sighed heavily into it.  
  
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you, Merlin,” he heard Gaius' surprised voice.  
  
“Oh. Gaius, I’m sorry. I thought it was Arthur.”  
  
“You have a delightful way of talking to him,” the professor said sarcastically. Merlin chose to not comment. “Merlin, how many pages did you turn in for your exam?”  
  
“Six total. Why?”  
  
“Very strange, I seem to be missing a page.”  
  
“ _What_?”  
  
“Calm down, Merlin. I think it’s just a mix up...”  
  
Merlin wasn’t listening anymore. Literally falling into a cab, he gave the address of the university. His hands shook, and to help to calm his nerves, he clamped his hands between his knees. The drive took forever; it started to drizzle outside, the car stopped at every stoplight—the whole world was against Merlin Emrys today. Finally, when Merlin had already mentally said bye to his good grade, they arrived at the destination. Getting out of the cab, he didn’t bother to check where he was going, and as a result stepped into a deep puddle. Watching the light fabric of his new shoes turn to muddy-grey he decided he’d had enough.  
  
Merlin didn’t sign up for all this rubbish. All he ever wanted was to finish his degree and follow his father’s footsteps. At his father’s lab.  
  
 _Sod it._  
  
“Sorry, Arthur, but your strategy has failed,” Merlin muttered, chuckling with slight hysteria in his voice, and, making a sharp turn around, startled the cab driver by climbing back into the car.  
  
Today he was going to have the best tweak of his life. No doubt. 

 

Arthur politely refused the coffee Hunith offered and went back outside. He expected a relapse for a long time now, and it seemed, had finally provoked it. Merlin was visibly shaking when he was saying good-bye to Morgause earlier. His hope was that even in that condition Emrys had enough sense to come back home.  
  
“Hullo, boss,” Gwaine greeted him cheerfully. “You’re turning into a professional stalker, but fine, I won’t make any derogatory comments about how low you have fallen.”  
  
“I’ll cut off your bonus,” Arthur promised.  
  
“He got a call from his professor, Gaius. I traced his cell via GPS, he took a detour, but now he's on his way home. May I leave the lad’s private life alone now?”  
  
“Certainly. Say hi to Morgana, I can hear her muttering.”  
  
“Definitely will.” Gwaine hung up, and Arthur exhaled.  
  
It was good that he wasn’t a licensed therapist. Sometimes “dirty tactics” where the most effective, indeed.  
  
A cab arrived at the front door about seven minutes later, and an extremely irritated Merlin stumbled out of it. Arthur stepped back, avoiding the street lamp light. Merlin paid to the driver and, bypassing the front door, moved straight in the direction of the garage. Arthur followed him, trying not to make any noise.  
  
Merlin, however, didn’t try to be quiet or hide. He probably wouldn’t notice a herd of elephants, should they take up residence on the front yard right now. Arthur watched Merlin pull off his jacket, dropping it in a heap on the floor, raise on his toes, and grab a small jar from the top shelf. Normally, people kept small screws in containers like that; in this case, Arthur was sure there was nothing of that sort inside. Merlin pulled out a notepad from his bag and tossed it on the hood of the car; he opened the jar, shook out some of the crystallised powder onto the glossy cover of the notepad, and skillfully straightened it into even lines.  
  
“Would you like a note?”  
  
Merlin flinched and snapped his absolutely wild eyes at Arthur.  
  
“What are you doing here?”  
  
“Instilling law and order in the neighborhood,” Arthur barked right into Merlin’s face. “You’re under arrest, hands behind your head.”  
  
The tactic of distracting Merlin worked like a charm, so Arthur decided to continue this little game. With one hand he knocked the notepad and the almost full jar off to the floor, and with the other, twisted Merlin’s arm behind his back, helping himself by pressing his knee there. Merlin bucked, trying to free himself unsuccessfully, cursed loudly, and slumped down when Arthur shook him a little.  
  
“Sod off!” Merlin tried to twist out of Arthur’s hold again. “Fuck you, Arthur, I don’t need your help. Leave me alone!”  
  
“Do you want your mum to come in here?” Arthur asked, leaning to Merlin’s ear.  
  
“Let her,” Merlin said stubbornly. “I can’t disappoint her more than I already did.”  
  
“After my conversation with your father? I agree, that would be hard.”  
  
“What conversation?”  
  
Arthur let Merlin go, and Merlin, quickly turning around, stared at him in astonishment.  
  
“Let’s go.” Arthur picked up Merlin’s jacket and handed it to him. “I’ll tell all about it, and you’ll decide what you’re going to do next.”

 

“Stop this mysterious silence!” Merlin kicked off his Keds and padded to the sofa. “Did you rat me out to my parents? Mum was looking at me weird when I was changing...”  
  
“Cool it.” Arthur hung his raincoat and got rid of his jacket. “Learn to discuss your business in a calm manner.”  
  
“Yes, about that.” Merlin ruffled his hair. “I can’t do it. Your brilliant idea is actually a total crock of shite.”  
  
Arthur sat down next to him, and after giving Merlin another moment he asked, “Are you done?”  
  
“Yes. Why aren’t you offering me a drink?”  
  
“So you could throw a drunken tantrum? Thanks, I’ll pass.” Arthur yawned. “I told Balinor everything.”  
  
“ _Everything_?” Merlin’s expression was a picture of absolute horror.  
  
“About the new company.” Arthur paused. “I know I promised to keep it quiet for now, but he cornered me. Your father knows how to get what he wants. So, I explained to Balinor why you’ve been behaving this way, and it made him very upset. You know, you’re such an arse. My father, in a similar situation, would’ve just shipped me to rehab, and wouldn’t lament about ‘my boy is so sensitive’.”  
  
It had been a while since Arthur felt this stressed. One little mistake—and it could be all for naught. So far, Merlin reacted as expected: horror was replaced by guilt, and he no longer emitted destructive energy like a nuclear reactor.  
  
“What else did he say?” Merlin asked quietly, deflated.  
  
“A lot of things, but only one concerns you. _Emrys Chemicals_ will sign a contract with your company. They need help with some sort of a research; I didn’t go into details. But Balinor already checked the equipment at your new lab and said you have enough resources to make it happen.”  
  
Merlin sat staring into a space.  
  
Arthur rose to his feet. “I need to change. Now you can get yourself a drink.”  
  
Arthur took his time to switch from a business suit into more casual khakis and a button-down, and walked back into the room. Merlin seemed calm, and if Arthur didn’t know what to look for, he’d miss the signs. _I’ll tell him later how Gwaine weeps when Simba loses Mufasa._  
  
“Feeling any better?”  
  
Merlin mumbled something and sipped from his drink. Rum with Coke, most likely.  
  
Arthur poured himself some wine and settled next to Merlin.  
  
“You don’t have to manage the company until you’re ready. Morgause is an excellent administrator, if it weren’t for her, they would’ve folded six month ago. She agreed to stay on and work with you. Your responsibility is to run the lab, and you can handle that. You can discuss the changes in your staff with Morgause—your father agreed to lend you a few researchers.”  
  
“Do I have to take them?” Merlin frowned and tossed one leg over another.  
  
“No. He can’t pressure you into anything. And he doesn’t want to. Stop being such а pansy, Merlin.”  
  
“I’m not a pansy,” Merlin bit back. “You don’t understand.”  
  
Trying not to scoff, Arthur shrugged his shoulders. This game was tiring, and the most challenging part was still coming.  
  
“That’s enough.” He took the empty glass away from Merlin and pushed his own out of the way as well. Last thing he wanted was the red spots on the light upholstery.  
  
Merlin watched Arthur’s manipulations with great deal of caution, but didn’t move from his spot.  
  
“Headache?” Arthur placed his palms on either side of Merlin’s neck and pressed softly, making him turn. “Today is your lucky day, I’ll be your personal masseuse.”  
  
“What’s next? Feeding me from a spoon?”  
  
“Are you planning to jump out the window and turn into a slobbering idiot?” Arthur asked, gently kneading his neck. Merlin definitely didn’t pay enough attention to his body.  
  
“I don’t think so.” Merlin snorted and cried out when Arthur found a particularly painful knot.  
  
“Then no feeding from a spoon.”  
  
Taking care of the most tense areas, Arthur gradually changed the nature of his ministrations. His touches weren’t causing discomfort anymore and made Merlin flutter his eyes in pleasure. Arthur leaned in, softly kissed the tip of Merlin’s ear and moved his hand to Merlin’s flat stomach, sliding it under his faded t-shirt. Merlin laid aback, opening to Arthur’s kisses and probably not realizing what he was doing.

Arthur should’ve stopped right there, but his resolve was weak, so he pushed those righteous thoughts out of his mind. Merlin twisted from under his arms and turned—his eyes unfocused, lips slightly parted—and Arthur lost the last of his control. Merlin eagerly accepted his gentle explorations, clung to him—drunk from their closeness, delirious, aroused... _craving_. Arthur unhurriedly popped the buttons on his jeans, pulled down the zipper, seeking access, and squeezed his already hard cock through the fabric.  
  
“Arthur,” Merlin breathed out, spreading his legs.  
  
“What do you want?” Arthur rasped, rubbing the bulge in Merlin’s jeans. He was so hard himself, he could hardly breathe: his lungs couldn’t get enough air; he was dizzy, warm waves radiated from his belly through his entire body.

 

Merlin didn’t answer, just pulled him closer—greedily, possessively—and hitched his hips into Arthur’s palm. Arthur bent closer, took Merlin’s bottom lip into his mouth and gently pulled. His fingers slipped under the thick band of Merlin’s underwear, found the already slick head and skated carefully over it, spreading pre-cum. Merlin arched, squeezing Arthur’s shoulder and moaned. Arthur, breathing hard, pushed his hand lower, drove the base of his palm over his balls and brushed against his hole—Merlin was practically laying flat on the sofa; his legs reflexively spread even more to the sides.

Arthur removed his hand and, leaning very close to Merlin’s ear whispered, “I think I won.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Arthur swallowed and closed his eyes. Blood hammered in his temples, the fabric of his pants  
painfully cut into his groin.  
  
“I want you,” he said without any inhibition, and looked pointedly at the bulge against the zipper of his jeans, “and would do just about anything to take you to my bedroom and shag you all night.”  
  
“But winning the bet is more important?” Merlin’s voice rang with fury.  
  
“Fuck the bet,” Arthur said. “Bet has nothing to do with it.”  
  
“Then what’s the problem? It’s because I’m an addict, isn’t it?” Merlin’s cheeks flamed from anger, wet lips twisted in resentment, and Arthur didn’t know how it happened, but he hovered over Merlin again, and, jerking him closer, started kissing him.  
  
Furious Merlin tried to kick him in the nuts, but the impact was weak and almost painless.  
  
“No.” Arthur had never seen Merlin this close, a mere millimetre between their faces. “Because I don’t want it like this. Not when you’re about to lose it, pumped with rum.”  
  
He let Merlin go and slid away from him.  
  
“I should’ve told Gaius to forget it when he asked me to help you, Merlin. I’m not good at mixing business with pleasure. Business is business.”  
  
“You should have.” Merlin grabbed Arthur’s unfinished wine from the table and emptied it with one gulp.  
  
“Couldn’t do it. Gaius is relentless.” Arthur exhaled loudly, feeling his erection slowly softening, and his mind clearing up. Something else was amiss here. He looked at Merlin sharply. An unsettling thought entered his mind. “Did someone fuck you without your consent?” he asked.  
  
The fragile stem of the wine glass slipped from Merlin’s fingers, and the glass soundlessly hit the floor. The thick fur of the rug saved the antique crystal, but Arthur didn’t give a damn about that.  
  
“How did you know? Did you send Gwaine to dig up my past again?”  
  
“He didn’t find anything.” Arthur pulled his brows together in a tired frown. “Don’t forget, I put two and two together for a living.”  
  
“I’m not telling you anything.” Merlin clammed up, pulling back.  
  
That answer only spurred Arthur on. “Was it at a club? Were you high?”    
  
“Sod off.”  
  
“Thought it was a bird, but ended up with your arse violated?” The words stung, Arthur knew it, but he had to get through to Merlin. It was now or never.  
  
“Fuck you!” For the tenth time Merlin tried to button up his jeans, but his shaky fingers didn’t obey.  
  
“Did he hurt you?” Arthur’s voice was softer; he winced. He still couldn’t believe he guessed right. Slowly bringing his hand to Merlin’s face, he curled his fingers around the back of his neck, holding him steadily, reassuringly.  
  
Merlin pressed his mouth into a hard line, averting his gaze.  
  
“Merlin. Look at me.”  
  
Merlin took a shaky breath and finally leveled his eyes with Arthur’s. He found no disapproval or disgust there.    
  
After an impossibly long silence, Merlin sighed and said, “I got plastered at a party. Found some stupid reason. I was in a pissy mood, something about ‘life is shite, fuck the universe,’ and somehow... I got so bloody drunk. Some bloke hit on me. He looked familiar, so I totally bought into his invitation to get some fresh air. Instead, he dragged me to his room, locked the door and tied my hands with my shirt. I was so out of it, I couldn’t even fight him.” Merlin chewed on his lip, frowning, and then continued, “And then he fucked me. He wasn’t a brute—used lube and rubbers. So, as you can see—no drama, Arthur.”  
  
“What happened after?”  
  
“Nothing. He said I had a sweet arse, untied my hands, and sent me off. ‘Thank you, sweetheart,’ I still remember his words.”  
  
Arthur closed his eyes, white-hot anger boiling under his skin. Now he could see the entire picture. The assault was the last straw; Merlin blamed himself for what happened and he resorted to drugs. They helped to take the edge off and gave him an illusion of control. Merlin ran away from his problems on the white crystal tracks into methamphetamine heaven.  
  
“Do you know who it was?” Arthur asked, trying to keep his voice even.  
  
Merlin shrugged, looking away again. “A mate of one bloke from my class. Came for a visit and left the next morning.”  
  
“I see. Too bad. I wish I could kick the shite out of him.”  
  
Merlin huffed.  “Too late for that.”   
  
Arthur squeezed Merlin’s neck again, his fingers cool on Merlin’s feverish skin. He used the knuckles of his other hand to brush over the side of Merlin’s jaw. “It wasn’t you, Merlin.”  
  
“What?” Merlin shifted uncomfortably, but Arthur wasn’t letting him go.  
  
“That piece of shite belongs in jail.”  
  
“Arthur—”  
  
“No, Merlin, listen to me. It wasn’t your fault. Being drunk is not an invitation.” Arthur muttered something else, sounding a lot like, “rip that arsehole limb from limb”.  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Merlin said quietly.  
  
“Do you?”  
  
“I know now.” Merlin glanced at Arthur, he thought of something, his expression softened and a small smile tugged at his lips. “You’d really mess him up for me? Why?” It was almost playful, and Arthur could feel the worst was finally over.  
  
“Because I’ll have to wank alone this evening,” he said very seriously and then smiled. He squeezed Merlin’s neck one more time and dropped his hand.  
  
“Prat.” Merlin kicked him. and then cursed, hearing the clock strike one in the morning. “Mum will interrogate me again. Where I was, what I did, as usual.”  
  
“Hunith knows you’re spending the night here.”  
  
“If she only knew how little you can be trusted...” Merlin shook his head.  
  
Arthur smirked.  
  
“She is a wise woman, you should listen to her,” he said. And added, on a lot more serious note, “Merlin. I am going to show you your bedroom, you’ll take a shower and will go to bed. Tomorrow you’ll talk to your father about the contract and will start working in your lab.”  
  
“What about you?” Merlin asked, his voice barely audible.  
  
“I’ll go back to my normal life. There will be no more sessions.”  
  
“Does it mean I’m cured?” Merlin asked in mock-hope.  
  
“Not a therapist, remember?” Arthur pointed at himself.  
  
“Never trusted them.” Merlin smiled.  
  
“Right. You’d be an idiot if you start using again,” Arthur said. ”And if you do, I’d be the first to recommend rehab for you.”  
  
“Fantastic.”  
  
“But something tells me, you won’t,” Arthur announced jovially and stretched languidly, extending his leg out.  
  
“And what about all this?” Merlin waved his hand around, pointing at the sofa, a crumpled blanket, and the wine glass still on the floor. “About the fact that you—that I—” Merlin stuttered.  
  
“That’s no longer my decision,” Arthur said simply.  
  
Arthur, who always made decisions for others? Merlin arched his eyebrows. But Arthur didn’t look like he was joking.  
  
“I’ll wait for three weeks, Merlin. For you, with all your ideas, synopses and plans for the future. You’d have to change a lot of things if you want to succeed. Use it wisely.” Arthur brought his hand to Merlin’s face as if to brush his fingers over his cheek. Merlin shut his eyes, but the touch never happened. “Three weeks, Merlin. For now, time’s up.”

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

“Merlin, any progress?” As usual, Morgause stopped by the lab before leaving for the day.  
  
“Definitely. We are on the right track.” Merlin gave her a tired smile.  
  
“Does it mean your theory about using irregular conditions to perform the reaction worked?”  
  
“Not exactly. But the idea was correct. When I started analysing the results further, I discovered—”  
  
“Stop.” Morgause smiled. “I believe you. We’ll talk to Balinor tomorrow.”  
  
“All right.” Merlin nodded and leaned back in his chair. The clock was showing ten in the evening. It was time to go home. “Although, I’d prefer to wait. What if my conclusions are wrong and the experiment fails next time?”  
  
“It won’t,” Morgause said with conviction, throwing a light raincoat over her shoulders. “And Merlin...”  
  
Merlin peeled his eyes away from the papers.  
  
“Balinor will be very proud.”  
  
While Merlin was blinking in great surprise, Morgause disappeared in the lab’s hallway. Well, maybe Arthur was right after all, claiming that Morgause actually liked Merlin. It was hard to fathom at first, considering how much they argued and clashed all the time. Merlin never allowed himself to curse in front of Morgause, even though she was a bloody devil in a skirt. She drove him mental by constantly undermining, ridiculing and nagging him. And only when Merlin threatened to throw a radioactive reagent at her, she backed off. Actually, she just hissed that she was sick of waiting for Merlin to make a bloody decision already.  
  
She was kind of right. Merlin had planned to extend his team but had no idea who to hire. Bringing Balinor’s people didn’t make sense since Merlin declared himself a lead-researcher. After several interviews with the candidates sent by agencies, it became clear that this way, it would take years to find someone suitable for him. So Merlin made a decision. He offered a job to his two close friends from uni, which, of course, was flat-out rejected by Morgause. But Merlin, who had enough of it with her already, firmly declared that he was the one running the lab, and Morgause suddenly calmed down—and agreed. She still mockingly knocked on his door every time before entering. He actually did the same for her, too.  
  
Merlin stretched languorously and yawned. Besides work, which held him up until the wee hours most days, he also had school, and somehow he had to manage both. It was hard. But Merlin discovered with great surprise that he actually loved this mad pace he was thrown into. He worked it out with the dean of the faculty to turn in his winter exams ahead of schedule, and spent every minute free from research and experiments studying in the library. With horror, he recalled how he steadily hit the rock bottom all last year. If it wasn’t for Arthur...  
  
Those three weeks, given to Merlin “to think” blended into a one long day. The funny thing was, he never found the time to actually think. He had to make a quick decision about his projects for the next semester, organise his compact schedule, meet new people—his future employees. Merlin immediately made it clear with his team: they’d have to work hard, yet he expected a camaraderie. He wanted them to be responsible, result-driven, and supportive of each other. He couldn’t stand being too formal with them himself, for which Morgause constantly gave him a hard time, condemning familiarities.  
  
Locking the door behind him, Merlin slid his access card through the card-reader, the light turned green, letting Merlin out. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and started a slow walk down the street, carefully stepping around the puddles. And of course he missed a car parked not far away. Only when someone honked, Merlin flinched and snapped his head in the direction of the sound. Arthur, talking on the phone, smoothly drove up to the kerb, and Merlin slid into the warmth of the car. Arthur rolled his eyes.  
  
Merlin mocked his expression... and for the next half an hour listened to the to-do list Arthur dictated to George for the next day. Then, as they walked from the garage to the house, gravel crunching under their feet, to his playful bickering with Gwaine  Then, while riding the lift, to his quick conversation with Uther Pendragon.  
  
“Hold on, Merlin, one more call, and I—”  
  
“Enough,” Merlin said firmly, taking away the mobile and making a show of turning it off. “You’re home. I am, too. And all your time belongs to me.”  
  
“Merlin, this is important—”  
  
“No,” Merlin interrupted him again and shoved the phone into his back pocket. “What was that you used to say? Time’s up? Well, Arthur, for everyone else—it is. For me—it’s only just beginning!”

 


End file.
